Bedlam
by markovgirl
Summary: An attack against a seventeen year old Tom Riddle leaves Hermione incarcerated in Gargan's Institute for Criminally Insane Witches and Wizards. But, he can't quite seem to leave her be. She knows something about him, and he needs to get it out - in one way or another.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Bit of the ole' fun.

1943.

_1943. _

Hermione slapped the Daily Prophet down onto the floor beside her with as much force as she could muster. Blasted thing. Slowly moving pictures of Grindelwald stared back at her, a maniacal twinkle embedded in his eyes. The girl swung her legs off the bed and kicked the paper far across the room, crossing her arms and pouting her lips in anger. This was utterly ridiculous, preposterous, madness - _madness. _The eighteen year old let out a let out a scoff and shot a glare into the empty room surrounding her.

She had been here for two weeks now, sitting in this room, wand-less, magic-less...irritable as a bulldog. The orderlies had a hard time speaking to her without some horrid retort being thrown back against their person. They tended to just enter her room quietly, lay down her food, water and potions and leave as soon as possible - the strange, wild-haired girl was not someone they wanted to be around for an extended period of time, even if they were paid for it. Hermione looked across the room to the tray on the floor, near to the Prophet she had assaulted - the food they had brought her was long gone, the water had met her parched lips gladly, but the potions remained. And for every day they stayed in this room, so would she. Her room was small, but due to the vacant space, it appeared larger at first. Walls of crumbling grey, barred windows too high up to reach, a small, iron bed in the corner. And a single metal chair.

Hermione moved her legs onto the bed and lent her back into her starched pillow, eyes focusing on the chair. That damn chair. Well, it wasn't so much the piece of furniture itself, but rather what it represented. Who sat in it every other day, her visitor - her only visitor. He had departed only an hour ago, according to the plastic clock on the wall, but it was still too soon until she would have to see him again. Sitting there with his smug, carved features, his crossed legs and stark white skin...

Letting out an exhausted sigh, the girl shuffled down the bed and rested her head against the pillow. Why was she here? What ungodly thing had she done to deserve this? To be stuck in the past, as war raged on in the present - but, no. This was the present now, her present was an uncast future. It did not do Hermione well to dwell on this fact, it had caused her many a tearful fit that worried the orderlies of the institute. She would never be able to leave this place, no-one would ever believe her. But could she lie to escape?

There were many things that Hermione Granger was - a bookworm, a nerd, a loyal friend...but she was not a liar. Nor did she take potions intended to cleanse her mind of well, everything. Nor was she mad. In this time however, it seemed insanity for a girl to suggest she had come from the future, to fight for herself, to demand that she needed that smashed up little pendant in order to get back to the future war she had been fighting against a vicious, snake-faced man...

'Madness, indeed!' she thought, scrunching her features up into a scowl.

True, she had attempted to curse the living daylights out of the first person she had seen when she had been so carelessly dumped in the middle of a winter-stricken Hogsmeade by her useless Time-Turner. But, that person hadn't exactly been expected so suddenly, and he certainly wasn't welcome to remain living after the things she had seen him do only seconds before her transportation. No, Tom Riddle needed to pay for the things he had done, in this life, the next, the one after that, and the one after that...

Hogwarts and the surrounding area of Hogsmeade had always been prone to snow at this time of year. Usually Hermione reveled in it, it gave her an excuse to remain in the library snug and warm whilst the others ran, screaming, lobbing balls of snow at each other in the quad below. Despite her seemingly grumpy nature, she always made sure she sat near the window, so she could watch them longingly and send them the occasional affectionate smile. But at the present moment, snow was the last thing she wanted. Her clothes were fairly thin, torn from multiple curses that had been thrown her way from several directions, and covered in the shattered glass of her Time Turner. The girl groaned at the severity of her initial impact, her panic to escape the onslaught in the battle had caused her to trip, to crash down the stairs, to spin - to start her Turner spinning and spinning and -

"Are you alright Miss?" a voice called, from above her. Hermione opened her eyes slowly, blinking back falling snowflakes to see a hand extended in her direction. "Where did you come from? It looked like you fell from somewhere."

"I- where am I?" she spluttered, trying to shake the nausea from her head.

"Hogsmeade, obviously. Now please, try to get up, you'll catch a chill sitting down there in the snow. I can get you some help from The Three Broomsticks, or Hogwarts, or - look, take my hand, please," the voice insisted. Through her haze, Hermione managed to assign the voice a gender - male. Definitely. Smooth, soft, reassuring...with a hint of irritation. She blinked again before taking the male's hand and allowing him to pull her up. She began to shake the snow from her back when everything started to become clearer - golly, Time Travel only usually had effects this bad when one had gone back a long way, wher-when was she?

The male was still holding her hand. Hermione looked up at him. He began a formal handshake.

"Well, as we're already in the position for introductions - my name is Tom, I'm Head Boy at Hogwarts School, just up the road."

Her mouth was dry. "Tom - what?" she replied, taking in his face as it became more visible. Dark, dark hair framing dark eyes, sculpted cheekbones, high, too high, like an aristocratic, living, breathing Dark Mark...

"Tom Riddle."

There was nothing on this Earth that could have prepared her for this - it wasn't fair, _it wasn't fair!_

"_Murderer!" _she screamed, snatching her hand back, grabbing into her robes with the other and pointing her wand at the dark-haired male in front of her. He raised his hands, quirking an eyebrow, the picture of nonchalant innocence.

"Sorry, murderer? I don't believe we've met before. Perhaps you are mistaking me for someone else?" he said, frowning slightly. Hermione raised her wand higher, then brought it down suddenly, blasting the snow in front of him with a manic glint in her eye. The white matter swirled into the air, splattering Tom's elegant frame and startling him enough to remove his own wand from his winter robes. "Okay, that's enough-."

"Evil," she shouted again, throwing numerous hexes at him with each word. "Little. Bastard!"

Riddle managed to dodge all but one hex, which hit him square in the chest and sent him flying backwards. His back collided with a wooden bench that was positioned near the edge of the road, winding the confused boy ever so slightly. Hermione smiled at his crumpled form, advancing again, grinning widely at his obvious pain. She wanted him to hurt, hurt for all the people he'd killed - will kill - what did it matter? He was a monster!

"What...who are you?" he gasped, climbing to his feet, glaring at the unknown assailant in front of him. His mind was racing - attack properly? There was a risk of the public seeing him kill a young girl. Not ideal for his perfect, prim, proper mask. Let her continue and wait for help? No, there was a touch of insanity in her voice that displeased him, warned him to protect himself.

Hermione laughed callously. "You've no idea have you! Amazing, if only you knew, maybe you'd forgive me for killing you now. I'd love to spend the time telling you, but, oh god, the things you've done, Voldemort-"

"What?" Tom interrupted, eyes growing wide. The girl knew that name. His name, his masterpiece, his final solution. "What did you just call me?"

The girl raised her wand again to fire the killing curse towards Riddle. For a moment, she hesitated, mulling over her intended action - true, killing him would make her sink as low as the boy, but he would grow up to be a foul, genocide-inducing maniac who would attempt to kill everyone she loved. That hesitation was all it took for Tom to retaliate.

"Stupefy!" he cried, sending Hermione flying backwards into the side of a building, knocking her head hard into the wall and sending her into darkness.

Next thing she knew, she was strapped to this bed, Tom had gotten her sent to the loony bin. Tears formed in her eyes, but she angrily blinked them away, turning onto her side and pulling the covers up over her body. There was nothing she could do now. Her bedside light reflected off his metal chair.

One more day, until he comes again.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom crawled further onto his bed, drawing the green and silver curtains that lined the shining wooden frame surrounding him to a close. He needed a sanctuary to think, somewhere safe, secluded and silent for him to voice his unnatural thoughts. Luckily, one of the privileges of being the all-powerful Head Boy was the private dormitory located on the third floor - far from the prying eyes of other students, it gave him a place to practice his magic, to mull over his plans and to concoct exciting, malicious ideas for his future. But at the present moment, it was a certain girl that was at the forefront of his scrutiny.

Even when they'd come to take her away, to incarcerate the little idiot for trying to curse him, he couldn't deny that the girl was _not _insane. She'd stared at him with glimmering eyes, yes, but eyes filled with hatred, pure unadulterated rage - not mania. But how could such hatred come to manifest without madness, it wasn't as if he knew the girl? And she knew that name..._his name._

Voldemort.

A frown flickered onto Tom's face as he leant his aching body back into the mattress - bloody bench had bruised his back terribly. Ignoring the pain, he turned onto his side and dragged his thick green duvet up over his shoulders. How did she know that name? The boy reached his hand out from under the covers and leant towards the candle at his bedside. Slowly, wordlessly, wandlessly, fire began to stream from the wick like a stream, forming a floating puddle in front of his eyes. He dipped his finger into the flames and began to scrawl his name 'T...O...M', fiery, untidy letters forming in the air above him. Swirling the last 'E', Tom settled back into the pillows and watched the fire dancing over him, spelling out the name he was so desperate to deny. Tom, Tom, Tom - filthy muggle Tom. Awful Daddy Darling Tom. He grimaced, curling his lip at the thought of the idiot his Mother had become so infatuated with - he was lucky to have only inherited the fool's looks, had he also gained his level of intellgence, he might have thrown himself off the Clock Tower. He began to raise his hand towards the letters, but paused as he caught sight of his forearm. Such pale skin, such brutally obvious veins - veins that held half-blood, filthy muggle blood, blood not worthy to be the Heir of Slytherin.

Tom angrily swiped his hand in the air and the letters began to rearrange themselves to form his _true name. _

Voldemort.

That was better. Here at last, was a name to be feared, a name worthy to continue Slytherin's work. The letters fizzled into ash as Tom let out a frustrated growl.

_How on Earth did she know his name?_

Hermione looked up into the face of the orderly and shoved the unfinished potions towards them.

"Not today, Lance," she sighed, a small smile gracing her lips as she looked up at the plump man. He reminded her of Neville, ever so sweet and tender, stuck in a world that didn't care for people who cared.

"Please Miss Granger? It would be much easier for both of us-" he began, eyes pleading.

"No."

Lance groaned and picked up the potions, leaving behind another plate of food for her dinner. Roast chicken and potatoes, slavered in a gravy so thick and tempting that her stomach growled just looking at it. It must be Sunday.

"Hermione, I don't like seeing you in here, you're a nice girl - now, if you were just to co-operate a little, things could move along so much quicker."

"I'm sorry Lance, I can't afford to have my mind wiped, there are...memories I need to keep," she replied, picking up the food and sitting back down upon her bed, giving him a sympathetic look.

"I understand. But, please...don't make too much of a fuss every time he visits," he muttered, eyes downcast. The man was kind to her, but he did not understand her problem with Tom Riddle - he was a polite, intelligent, handsome young man, most likely every girl's dream. Lance could still remember the first time he came to visit;

"_Are you sure Mr Riddle, it was you she tried to attack after all?"_

"_I assume you have her suitably restrained. Besides, I only wish to find out what is causing this disturbance in her mind. Perhaps she was driven insane by a lover who looked similar? I am very interested in the way magic is used to understand psychology and, well, I would really appreciate some time alone with her to help me gain further knowledge," the boy replied, giving him a wide smile. "And of course, to see how she regains her sanity from your skilled hand."_

_Lance returned the grin, happy at the prospect of the boy being interested in his work. "Okay, she's room four in the second staircase of the main quadrangle. Roman numerals above the entrance," he said, handing Tom a small set of keys. As the Head Boy began to move away, Lance span his chair around and called out, "But please don't provoke her!" _

"I won't make a fuss, if you start serving apple crumble again," Hermione replied, her face crinkling into a grin. She poked the jelly and ice-cream sitting next to her main meal. "I mean, this is lovely, but...well. It's rather chilly in here."

Lance smiled back at her. "Well, I shall send in some more blankets for you. It is Winter I suppose. And, of course, I'd have made it a while ago if you'd have said, 'Mione!"

The girl chuckled at the use of her shortened name. It reminded her of -

It reminded her of Ron. A small pain began in her chest, but it passed quickly. It had been easier to gulp down her sadness these days - perhaps the solitude was doing her good. It was making her forget, at least. But no, that wasn't what she wanted! She wanted them alive, happy, near to her. But they couldn't be further.

"Well, I'd better go, leave you to your date," Lance said, snapping her from her distracted thoughts. The girl scoffed and took her dinner over to the tiny desk she had recently been permitted to have in her room, before sitting down to eat.

"It's not a date Lance, I can't stand the idiot. I don't know why he keeps coming back. He's the crazy one," she snapped, pouring herself a plastic cup of water.

She heard the orderly sigh gently, before shutting the door behind him. Hermione looked up at the clock - 6.30pm. Tom would be here soon. He always came when she was eating, it irritated her no end. If food was all she had to look forward to in this goddamn place, he would NOT be allowed to ruin it - thus, she ignored him until she had finished. She looked down at her knife and fork, frowning as she raised the latter to her face, pressing the prongs into her lower lip. How she wished they were metal, rather than plastic, at least she would have some sort of weapon against Riddle.

_Speak of the devil, and he hath appeared. _

The boy entered quietly, shutting and locking the door behind him before removing his outer coat and settling it on the back of his chair. _Her_ chair. She glared down at her dinner, stabbing a piece of chicken roughly, never taking her eyes away from her plate. Tom moved to her bed and she heard something smack down gently onto the covers.

"Lance told me to give you these."

Hermione frowned. _These. _Such a non-descript word that forced her into asking "What are they?"

She hated talking to him. "Extra blankets. Apparently you get cold."

Spearing a carrot on the end of her fork, she nodded. "Good."

"No thank you?"

"Not until hell freezes over."

"Well, if I were Dante I'd still be expecting an apology. Luckily, I don't believe in Muggle nonsense, so I'll ignore that comment altogether," he said, voice darkening slightly. She heard the metal chair scrape along the floor as he brought it to the other side of her desk, sitting down straight opposite her.

"Excuse me, I'm eating," she hissed, still avoiding his gaze.

"You carry on," he replied, folding his hands in front of him.

They sat in near-silence, the only sounds being those of Hermione's strained chewing and the clatter of her knife and fork across the plate. After the last mouthful had passed her lips, Tom made his usual start.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Hermione."

"Yes, I know that. Where do you come from?"

"England."

"Why did you attack me?"

"Because you deserve it."

"What did I do to you?"

"_Murderer."_

Tom sighed and leant back in his chair. This had been the same conversation they'd been having for weeks, by this point he would drop the conversation, hand her a copy of the Daily Prophet, watch her read it, then leave. He'd tried pleasant, stern, caring, friendly...everything. Well, everything acceptable to the public eye...even if she couldn't use magic in this place, he could. Wordlessly, Tom sent a silencing charm bounding around the room, before meeting Hermione's eye.

"I haven't killed anyone," he hissed back at her, narrowing his eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed, uncertain of this new tone. "I don't know you, how can you know me? Or anything I've done? How did you know that-." He paused, hands balling into fists.

"How did I know that name, Tom?" she retorted, a chuckle leaving her lips. Tom pursed his lips, nodding. "I know a lot more about you than you think."

"Are you a stalker?" he replied, voice turning almost a snarl as she laughed over him.

"That's rich, Riddle. It really is."

She turned away from him and got out of her chair, moving towards the bed. "Now, as much as I've enjoyed our conversation, I'd prefer to get changed for bed in peace and solitude." Not hearing him leave she turned back to see him, still seated, with a dark smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Leave, or I'm shouting for help."

Tom leaned forwards, steepling his hands under his chin. "I'm usually here for a couple of hours, Lance won't expect me to leave after ten minutes. And I doubt he'll hear you, Hermione, plus, you're the crazy person here, if anyone should be calling for assistance, it's me. So go on," he removed his suit jacket and shrugged it over the back seat of his chair, leaving him clad only in his dress trousers and crisp white shirt. "Get ready for bed."

Hermione froze, turning her body fully to face him. "Lance is only down the corridor tonight, he'll hear me."

Tom grinned and stood to his full height, moving around the desk. He casually leant against the wood, pulling his wand from his pocket and twirling it between his fingers, smile widening as the girl's eyes glimmered with fear. "You know, I don't think he will."

"Get out," Hermione said, as bluntly and calmly as she could manage. Thanks to his devastating face, the girl had almost forgotten who she was in the room with. He was still a killer, even at this age - he was still Voldemort, even if he looked like an angel. Her mouth unintentionally blurted, "You are much more dangerous like this."

"Like what?" he replied, quirking an eyebrow. Hermione inwardly cursed herself.

"Never mind."

"No, I want to know - tell me what you mean, Hermione," he retorted, smile fading rapidly from his features.

"I would rather you leave, Tom. Please," she said, quietly.

"Tom, now? What happened to Voldemort?" he snapped back at her, pushing himself off the desk and taking a step towards her. Automatically, Hermione stepped backwards and reached behind her for her wand - but of course, she wasn't wearing her normal clothes, just this sodding hospital gown. And she had no wand, no magic, no...protection against this madman.

"To Volde-what?" she replied. Acting dumb might buy her some time, if only she could reach the door, she would be able to scream for Lance.

"Voldemort," he repeated. He noticed her eyes sliding towards the exit, and tapped the side of her face with his wand. "No point, silencing charms."

"But you can't use magic in h-."

"YOU can't use magic in here. I can. So please, answer my questions, I would rather not mark that pretty skin of yours."

Aforementioned skin began to crawl as his eyes raked over her body, before meeting her eyes with a smirk. "I don't know what you mean. Must've been a vision or something, maybe I'm a See-"

"Fine."

Hermione looked up at him, frowning. "Fine?"

"Yes, fine. Must I repeat everything? But this is the last time I'm going to play 'nice Tom' for you. I want what's in your head, and I will have it by some means. I'll be back tomorrow evening, should give you enough time to gather your answers for me, don't you think? If not, I'm afraid things will begin to get a bit messy between us, Hermione." he stated, turning back to retrieve his jacket and coat. The girl stood, brow furrowed, perplexed by his actions. He paused, chuckling darkly, before looking back at her. "Now, get ready for bed."

The boy leant back into his position against the desk, folding his arms and watching her expectantly. Hermione spluttered. "You don't really think I'm going to get undressed in front of someone like you?"

"I don't really see you having much of a choice, _Hermione," _Tom hissed, enjoying the effect his slimy words were having on the girl. He raised his wand silently and tilted his head. "Take it off, or I'm shredding it."

"But why? I-I...I mean...you...?" she stammered, clutching the bottom of her white dress desperately.

"I'm surveying."

"Surveying?"

"Still with the repetition."

Hermione scoffed. For the last month he had never shown any sort of sexual interest in her, merely sat there, silently, watching, always watching, never acting. They had never even brushed arms as he left - so why this, why now?

"4,3,2-"

"Fine! Just, I suppose you looking the other way is out of the question?" she pleaded. Tom smirked, not uttering a word. "Right, fine. Disgusting, foul-"

"Shut up and get on with it," he shouted, flicking his wand to send her flying back into her bed. Her knees buckled against the side and her head collided with the wall behind her, sending stars shooting in front of her eyes. Tom advanced forwards, looming over her, smiling gleefully. He was so fond of torture, there were so many different ways of causing torment. When it came to women, he could usually play at breaking hearts, standing stoically as countless hordes would sob their hearts out after a simple fuck. But this girl _hated him_ so much, that playing voyeur was so much sweeter. And she wasn't a bad sight to be viewing, maybe a little scrawny, nothing that couldn't be altered by many more good meals.

"Now," he stated, calmly. Tears began to well up behind her eyes as she moved her fingers to the buttons at her neck. This was devastating, she didn't want his foul gaze upon her, this was - what if he intended to - no no no, she would not allow Voldemort to violate her life any further!

"No, Tom," she murmured. His eyes darkened above her.

"Excuse me?" he replied, hand gripping his hand tighter.

"No."

Tom lowered his wand, mind bursting with anger at her denial. Well, the little bitch would see. "I'm sorry you feel that way Hermione. I am not sorry for the following. You must realise that whilst you are quite comfy here at present, this is still an asylum and if you misbehave, they will treat you as they treat every other crazy here." He raised his wand again. "I'm not sure if you know the treatment for hysteria in women, it's fairly dated in the muggle world, but here, well, let's say that magic hasn't quite caught up." With that he threw down his coats and moved his long fingers up to his shirt. Clasping his fist around the neck he tore it slightly, sending a few buttons flying to the floor. The girl raised an eyebrow, confused as to his intentions. _Hysteria? _

Hermione's eyes widened as he wordlessly sent a dark blue spell spinning in her direction. Almost at once her body began spasming out of control, her limbs flying from side to side, shrieks leaving her lips and fingers tearing at her clothes. But her mind was still active, normal, panicking - why couldn't she control herself? What was going on? "Maybe I'll get a good show after all," he laughed, casting away the silencing wards. Almost immediately Lance entered the room, a concerned look stuck on his face.

"What happened?" he asked, looking from the twisting girl on the bed, to Tom. Tom changed his expression to one of worry and shame.

"She t-tried to rip my shirt off, I think she was...wanting..you know..I tried to get her off and suddenly she started this!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair.

Lance frowned. "Oh dear. I think it's best you leave the room Tom, please wait outside," he ordered. Tom nodded and took one last glance at the girl thrashing on the covers. _She'll see. _

A team of orderlies had been sent to deal with Hermione, moving her from her room to a higher security cell. In here, she had been placed in restraints attached to a bed, much harder than her own. In here, the treatment began. _Hysteria. The widow's disease. Sexual desire. Nervousness. Brief periods of sanity. _Words that echoed around the room flickered in and out of her mind. What were they doing? If only her body would keep still for just a minute, perhaps she could work out what was going on, try to explain what Riddle had done. Riddle. The little sod was standing with Lance, both with a worried look plastered across their faces - only one was genuine - behind a darkened window that looked into the treatment room.

"I don't know if you should really be seeing this Tom," Lance muttered, his heart going out to the poor girl in front of them.

"I can leave if you would prefer it. I'm just so worried about Hermione, and I am curious as to the nature of different treatments," he replied, eyes fixated on her.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "For scientific reasons, of course, Tom?"

Tom met his glance with a wide smile. "Of course, Lance."

They both turned back to Hermione, whose legs had been wrenched apart into stirrups and held firmly in place by thick restraints. "So what exactly happens to hysterical girls, Lance?"

"Well, the theory is from Hippocrates, who associated symptoms such as these with the movement of a woman's uterus throughout different locations in the body, thus blocking passages, obstructing breathing, and causing disease of the hysterical paroxyms." he paused, turning his head away from the room. "Sorry Tom, I know you are interested in psychological medic-"

Lance's eyes glazed over as Tom lowered his wand. Under the Imperius Curse, he guided the older man to the corner of the room and forced him to slump down against the wall. Out of sight, and out of mind.

Tom turned back to the window, smiling as Lance stared vacantly into the air, effectively leaving him alone in the boxed off room. If this didn't wear the girl down by tomorrow, nothing would. With that, he relinquished the curse he had inflicted upon Hermione, sat back into a chair and watched his show.

The spell was gone. It was gone!

As quick as Hermione had managed to open her mouth, someone spoke behind her.

"_Corpus hystraria."_

She gasped, feeling another spell begin to take hold. "P-please, stop I need to te-" she began, her words melding together at once. A maddening sensation began to plague her abdomen, a kind of intensely pleasurable feeling that swelled in her lower stomach, moving to attack her clitoris and inner thighs. Hermione let out a low moan and began to pull at her restraints.

"Please, stop, I'm fine, I'm fine!" she gasped, looking pleadingly towards the orderlies beside her. One smiled sympathetically at her, but looked down at her watch, shaking her head. Another wave of pleasure hit her and she let out another cry, rolling her head to the other side of the pillow. It was at that moment her gaze caught that of Tom Riddle, who was still sitting quietly in his tucked away booth. Loathsome boy, why was he allowed to be here? Where was Lance? Noticing her glance, a smirk graced Tom's lips as he continued to stare. Hermione let out another loud moan as she was brought closer and closer to her final peak. A fine sweat broke out over her body and she tried to twist out of the cuffs holding her down to no avail. She looked back at Tom with hatred burning in her eyes - she would not let him see her broken by this. Hermione Granger would not be defeated by him, today, or ever again.

For the next ten minutes she staved off the inevitable orgasm that was being forced upon her with all the willpower she had. Her eyes remained focused on the ceiling, she breathed evenly and tried to ignore the never-faltering stare of Riddle. Suddenly spike of pleasure hit her with such force that sent her mind spinning, and her hips strained upwards off the bed. Her head snapped to look at Riddle - his lips were silently moving, undoubtedly throwing subtle charms in her direction. She couldn't control her breathing, the sensations were out of control, but she couldn't lose! Not now! Her eyes remained focused on Tom and she began to moan loader. The constant stimulation on her clitoris was reaching its peak, she resigned herself to the fact that, with his magic focused upon her as well, she couldn't hold on.

"Stop him, he's doing it too - oh god! P-please, stop him!" she shouted, her hips thrashing wildly from side to side. Finally, the pressure was too much; she broke. "Oh god, please, no, no, Tom!" As soon as his name left her lips, spoken in a lustful, half-broken slur, she regretted it - a triumphant smile broke out on his face as she closed her eyes and her features distorted into one of pained pleasure. Her mouth hung open, eyes screwed together, in fact, her entire body tensed and twitched as her orgasm overtook her. Finally, she slumped into the bed, exhausted, defeated.

He sat back, relinquishing his hold on her, satisfied. As the orderlies began to surround her, he turned and flicked his wand at Lance. "Come on, you great oaf. We have some details to sort out."

"I'm sorry Hermione, it was the only way to control you. Female hysteria is-"

"Female hysteria is a nonsensical, misogynistic pile of dung, Lance!" she shouted, pushing her daily potions towards him with considerably more force than usual. Lance jumped slightly at her aggression and frowned.

"Hermione, calm yourself. You've had a pretty easy ride here thus far, seeing as your behaviour has been...well, fairly average for a patient here. This is why we believe that you are not fit, well, you are _too_ fit to be in this institute any longer. But these outbursts are uncommon and unnatural affairs, which you must stop if you are to go and live in the outside worl-"

"I'm going to live in the outside world?" she butted in, looking up from her food. Lance smiled at her wearily and placed a clipboard stuffed full of papers in front of her.

"We've no records of any relatives for you, but there has been someone kind enough to take you into their care until we deem you fit enough to do without them." he stated, turning a page on his clipboard. Hermione's eyes narrowed. "We'll have you in for monthly check-ups, of course, but I think you're mentally stable enough to be looked after by a friend. You must thank him for his kindness."

"Him?"

The clock on the wall struck 7pm, and the door opened. As it did every two days. In strode Tom Riddle, as he always did. Except this time, he wore a look of utter glory on his face, and he had an extra coat slung over his arm. "Everything sorted Lance?"

"All stamped and approved, Mr Riddle. I must say, you are extremely kind to sort all of this out for Miss Granger," Lance said, beaming from ear to ear. Hermione supposed he was glad to get rid of patients whenever he could, the institute was full to the brim with unattended lunatics. But to Tom Riddle? How had this-

"He cursed you, Lance," she said, getting to her feet. Lance let out a short laugh and beckoned Hermione over to Riddle.

"I think I'd know if I were cursed, don't you Hermione?" he replied, patting her on the shoulder.

"B-but-"

"No buts Hermione. We cannot keep you here, you have already been signed over to Mr Riddle's care and we have another patient arriving here in an hour. So, if you please. I don't believe you have many belongings, they're all here in this bag," Lance continued, handing the small cotton tote to Riddle, who peered inside. As the bag was passed, she heard the tinkle of metal against glass - her broken Time Turner. Her clothes must be in there too - and her wand! Riddle raised an eyebrow before motioning to Hermione.

"Come on, I have a carriage waiting to take us," he muttered.

"To Hogwarts?" she asked, hopefully. Hogwarts meant Dumbledore, the one man who might believe her story - she had heard he never trusted Riddle, perhaps if she could just talk to him then everything would turn out alright.

"Don't be stupid. I've got a small flat above the Tomes and Scrolls bookshop, in Hogsmeade," he said, throwing the coat towards her. "It's cold outside, snowing, best to put it on."

Heart sinking rapidly, Hermione pulled the thick woolen coat around her shoulders and headed for the door. _Hex him the moment you get out. Grab the bag, grab the wand, hex him the moment you get out. _


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for all the reviews- please keep them coming!

Snow was beginning to fall again, Tom noticed, as he stepped outside the asylum. He waited in the doorway for his new ward to say her goodbyes, pulling up the sides of his coat collar to protect his face from the harsh wind that chafed his taut skin. He still didn't quite understand what his plan was to be, take her back to his vacation residence in Hogsmeade and then...what? Torture her for information? Let her starve? Enter her mind and then kill her? Whatever his decision, it would be undertaken with the utmost glee, the little bitch had already gotten under his skin. How did she know so much about him? Over the past month he had spent considerable amounts of time and effort trying to gain access to that information with little recompense - intimidation didn't work, kindness didn't seem to work. So what?

Turning to the door and checking his watch, a scowl stretched across his handsome features. Where was this girl? It only took a second to put her arms around that oafish Lance and she had no friends here, so what could possibly take this long?! He reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his wand and gently waved a simple pattern into the air. Immediately the atmosphere around him began to warm, the spell sheltering him from the bitter frost of the winter evening. He smiled down at his wand, a genuine smile that reached his eyes - Tom only truly loved one thing, and that was his magic. It made him feel whole, powerful, unyielding. Better than the rest. As his fingers flexed around the pale wood, a thought crossed his mind that turned his smile into a smirk. _She was getting a block, of course. _A block put on her magic, limiting her to simple spells, first year drivel. His smirk grew wider, eyes darkening - this would keep her under his influence for as long as he wanted. But the original problem was still there, how should he approach her? Violence and threats could only take him so far before he completely lost his temper and ripped her guts out through her mouth. That wouldn't serve him well at all.

He breathed out into the air, watching the precious tendrils of breath curl away from him, and leant back against the doorway, closing his eyes. The last time he had seen Hermione before today was during her bout of treatment. His eyebrow quirked - she had finally broken down after the assaulting magic couldn't be tolerated any longer and she - she had screamed his name as she came. Alright, she had been trying to get the orderlies to halt his magic, protested against him and was caught in the throes, but, still - _she had cried out HIS name. _More importantly, she had cried out his name whilst maintaining eye contact with Tom. The thought of it all; that broken sound, that sheen across her face, the way her hospital gown rode up her thighs as she thrashed under the crackling power of _his _magic...it made him want more. More screams, more sweat, more skin-

He thought again of his death threat - killing her was a little unnecessary, surely? _Get a grip Tom, you're getting soppy. Find out what she knows. Hide the body. _The dark voice inside his head would steer him towards what was right, it always told him what to do. Voldemort never failed. He knew from Lance's files that the girl had no-one; no blood or step relatives, no home, no school or ties to anything or anyone, so getting rid of her would be easy. There was this uneasy feeling in his stomach that told him to wait, to unravel the mystery of Hermione Granger before making his decision - perhaps she could prove useful? She was certainly a powerful witch and -_"Oh god, Tom!" _The sound rang through his head over and over and over and over...

Riddle ran his hands through his hair and gripped his wand tighter, a slight blush settling over his high cheekbones. Perhaps seduction was the route he should take? _Certainly the more preferable option, eh Tom?_ Gaining her trust would be hard, but with it, so many opportunities could open up. Perhaps she would willingly tell him everything? Perhaps she would tell him whilst writhing and coming on his bed covers? _Don't you want to cut her head off? _

With an evil grin, Tom turned back to the door upon hearing light footsteps. However his plans played out, he intended to have fun with this.

_What do you want Tom?_

Hermione reached the exit at last, fuming beyond belief. A block? On HER magic? If anyone needing blocking it was that moody looking git ahead of her. Lance's words rang still in her mind:

"_Hermione, you must be reasonable. We can't let you run around with magic as powerful as yours upon transfer. Think of the danger you could pose to others - especially Mr Riddle! As caring as he is, I don't think he would appreciate having his arm torn off in one of your fits of rage. Not at all! Now, we shall restore your magic bit by bit as our monthly check-ups go, until we see fit to release you for good. Your mind is so powerful Hermione, please be careful how you use it."_

Her face turned an unattractive shade of crimson. _Be careful indeed! _Though Lance was right to a certain extent - she would have ripped off more than Riddle's arms given the chance. So, why was he taking her into his care? She had to presume that 'care' translated to 'captivity and torture' in Parseltongue. Sighing deeply, the girl wrapped the coat she had been given tightly around her body and stepped out into the darkness of the evening. As soon as she saw the environment around them, she had an inkling of her location. The site was around three miles outside of Hogsmeade and in her time, it had housed a museum of sorts. She had always meant to visit it, but never seemed to have the time - why was that? Ron and Harry had spoken about the museum before, laughing at the bizarre contents and even tried to talk to her about it. But she had just shut them up viciously before turning back to her books. Why had she done that? Why couldn't she just have fun like everyone else - was the success, the recognition, the power really worth the loneliness? Shuddering in the cold air, she rid her mind of the thoughts. These memories did her no good now. She was resigned to the fact that the past, no - _the future _was no longer open to her. All she had now was this world, this bizarre place she knew little about, filled with people she knew very vaguely from her history books. _Remain. Blank. _

A small smile formed around her lips as she noted snowflakes falling slowly, but thickly, in the winter air. A white layer of snow had already formed upon the ground, causing a startling light glow to be emitted into the atmosphere. Hermione breathed deeply, taking in the stark, cold air and watching her warm breath swirl away from her like the first puffs of a Patronus. It was comforting, in a way.

"Took you long enough. The carriage couldn't make it through the snow so we have to walk. Let's go before the sun comes up," an irritated voice beside her piped up. Hermione turned slightly, to see Riddle's pale face scowling above her. And of course, there was him. What to do about Tom Marvolo Riddle. Hermione furrowed her brow and observed him passively. He really was a sight to behold: soft, white, touchable skin, black hair that just begged to have hands clutching at it, features that an angel would sin for.

Hermione had first noticed his looks about a week into his visits. Her dinner was finished and for the first time, she met his silent gaze. He was pale, yes, but never sickly. Thin, but not scrawny. Practically perfect in every way. Almost every way. She almost let out a laugh at the stark contrast between his outward and inward appearances. _Beautiful sodding monster. _

"Stop goggling at me, let's go." he snapped.

"I didn't ask to be taken into your 'care', Riddle. And I am not goggling!" she shot back, eyes narrowing at him. His mirrored hers in their hatred as they stared at each other. Instead of retorting, Tom took her upper arm in his hand and he pulled her towards the steps that led away from the institute. Looking back at the grey building, Hermione felt a strange sense of loss, mingled with relief. She was back in the wizarding world, but her magic had been dwindled down to near-nothingness and she was with this conceited murderous prick. Joy of joys.

The journey to Hogsmeade was only a couple of miles, but as soon as they reached the bottom of the steps, the snow became far thicker and troublesome. Hermione was only wearing the thin, white plimsolls that had been given to her in the asylum - in fact, she had no idea where her trusty desert boots had gone, or for that matter, the rest of her clothes, though she presumed that they were in the satchel Tom had slung across his wiry body. The snow immediately seeped through her shoes and began to gnaw at the skin of her feet. They were headed down a cobbled country back lane with wooden fences and hedges underlining picturesque scenery that carried on for miles. Everything seemed to be covered in the dense layer of snow, and there was a thick mist that hung around the hills in the distance, it all made everything look, well - magical. But it wasn't half _painful._The girl merely winced at first, but after a mile or so, she wrenched her arm from Tom's grip and stomped towards a bench at the side of the pavement. Riddle turned round incredulously to glare at her, thinking she was trying to make her escape. But no, Hermione merely wiped the snow off the seat of the bench and sat down to nurse her throbbing feet. Tom raised an eyebrow and moved towards her.

"Don't you have any proper shoes? It's Winter," he asked, dismissively.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I didn't know it was Winter, did I, idiot?"

"It's been snowing all month - it's December."

Tom narrowed his eyes at her. She really must be mad if she hadn't noticed the snow piling up around her for the past month.

"Oh. Well, I-" she began, trying to think of an excuse. Instead, she diverted the topic. "Can I have my wand?" She sighed as Tom raised his eyebrows again. "I'm not going to curse you, I just want to warm up and protect my feet, okay?"

Tom chuckled as he reached into his satchel and threw the wand at her. _Such a fighter._ "It's not like you could even if you wanted to."

Hermione ignored his jibe and began casting her limited spells over her feet. A delightful warmness spread up her legs, and she smiled blissfully. If there was one thing she hated, it was cold feet. "Why didn't we just apparate to Hogsmeade?" she questioned, tucking her wand into her pocket and getting back onto her feet. They began walking again, Hermione now quite enjoying the snow crunching underneath her soles as her charm fought off the cold.

Tom turned to look at her. "Wards around Hogsmeade," he said, in a monotone. "Which reminds me, how did you manage to get through them?" _Tell me. _

Hermione's face paled. "What do you mean? I didn't apparate into Hogsmeade."

"I saw you, you appeared from nowhere and fell to to ground right before you attacked me." _Liar. Tell me. _

"You must have been seeing things. Sure you don't need _your _head checked, Tom?" she snorted, trying to appear nonchalant.

"You know if you keep lying to me, I'm going to curse you to dust," Tom said, in a sickeningly sweet tone. _What do you want, Tom? _

"It's not like you could even if you wanted to," Hermione laughed lightly.

They arrived at his apartment within the hour, though the journey taking longer than anticipated due to the snow. Tom check his watch: _8.30pm. _And golly, was he hungry. He peered down at the bushy haired creature who was shivering slightly at his side, noticing she had moved closer to him to block the wind. _The odd little liar. _He stopped at an unremarkable grey door placed in-between two different bookshops. It seemed to blend into the environment around it to such and extent that Hermione was only able to notice it upon Tom's next action - it was as if the door forced your eyes to look elsewhere, it didn't want to be seen. Placing his hand against the middle of the surface, he began to utter an incantation under his breath. Hermione's eyes widened as Tom's hand began to sink through the solid wood, as if it had turned to water at his touch. The boy noticed her stare and rolled his eyes.

"It keeps people out unless I want them in. Burns unwanted intruders like of it as a security measure," he muttered, moving her forward and pushing her through the entrance to his quarters. A small flight of stairs led up, opening onto a much larger living space. It was plainly coloured in creams, blacks and greens - _how utterly Slytherin of you, Tom - _two armchairs sat in front of an unlit fireplace in one corner, surrounded by a number of bookcases, a kitchenette was placed in another. The back wall held three doors - one was open and revealed a similarly decorated master bedroom, Hermione presumed the other was a guest room and the last, a bathroom. All in all - too nice for a Hogwarts student to afford for his holiday residence. Certainly far too nice for an orphan boy like Tom.

"How did you come by this place? It's very...big, very nice," she muttered, looking up at Tom, who was holding his hand out to her. She raised an eyebrow before shrugging off her coat at his silent request and brattishly dropping it on the floor. He sighed and stooped to pick up the garment before moving to hang it upon the back of the door, letting out a snort.

"I was left it by family," he replied, pushing her further into the room. He turned quickly and cast a number of locking spells at the door, along with a silencing charm that blocked the world around them from hearing anything that might happen in the apartment. His admission was partially true - he had been _left _it, after obliviating the previous owner to such an extent that he was now leading a muggle life on the streets of London. No-one knew the old codger who had lived here, and it was a prime location - right near his school, above two extremely useful bookshops and was easy to access for all his followers. His actions may have seemed drastic, but it ensured that he would _not _go back to that orphanage. Ever.

Now it was Hermione's turn to snort. "Sure, I bet the previous occupant is still under the floorboards. Can't you hear the beating of his tell-tale hea-" Before she could finish, a harsh crack resounded across the room and a jinx was sent spinning towards her. Before she could move, the spell hit her chest and sent her flying backwards into one of the armchairs. A groan left her lips as her head collided with the piece of furniture, thankful only for the leather upholstery that had absorbed some of the impact. She glared up at Tom, hand rubbing the back of her head.

"What the hell was that for?" she shouted, angrily, getting to her feet. Another curse crashed into her and flung her to the floor on the other side of the room. She let out a cry as the fall winded her, causing her words to come out in pants. "W-what...T-Tom..."

The boy in question walked towards her, smirk set firmly into place, his wand tapping against the palm of his opposite hand. "You're in my house now, Hermione," he said, quietly, crouching down to look at her. He grasped her chin firmly in his hand and forced her gaze upwards. He liked that she was still struggling to breathe. "So, you'll do what I say, alright? No being rude, or snarky towards me. No running off. No trying to kill me. No ifs ands or buts. No misbehaviour. And no shoes on the carpet." He flashed her a smile, noticing how she winced at the action. This confused him slightly - wasn't he irresistible? Women had never been able to ignore his charms before, but this one just seemed angry, or terrified of him. Confusing creature to say the least, and definitely a misbehaving one. Her eyes were so wide, reddening around the edges as if she didn't want him to see her cry. _Don't hold back. Cry. I want to hear you cry again. _

Tom stroked his hand along her jaw and watched her shudder with glee. "Will you do what I say, Hermione?"

The frightened, confused girl remained stone still, her eyes glazing over as she looked at him. Slowly, Tom moved the hand holding her up and down, forcing her into a comical nod. "Yes Tom, I will do whatever you say," he mocked, a cruel laugh forming behind his lips. He leant forwards, lips almost brushing her ear and whispered, "Good girl."

He stood back to his full height, smiling at her twitching on the floor below him. _Where she deserved to be. _

He turned, strolling happily over to the kitchenette where he started searching the pantry for food and drink.

"I'm afraid I didn't get a lot in, I only made the decision to have you yesterday," he rambled, absent-mindedly. "But we should have something - ah!" With a flourish he settled a big bottle of red wine and a large carton of pea soup onto the kitchen table. Hermione watched with confused eyes as he bustled around the small kitchenette, pouring the soup into a saucepan, collecting wine glasses and arranging bowls and shining silver cutlery. Seeing Voldemort Jr follow domestic routine was...disturbing, to say the least. Finally, he leant back against the side of the worktop, hand reaching out to the fruit bowl and enveloping a shiny red apple. He raised the fruit to his lips and bit down into the flesh, staring back at the girl crumpled on the floor. It appeared that she had gotten over her little shock and was now attempting to get to her feet, ignoring his gaze. Her limbs occasionally flinched - his throws must have hurt her. _Poor darling._ She turned to look at him, wincing as he crunched down on the apple, resting her weight against a bookcase for support.

"You know, I'm not going to tell you anything, so you might as well just kill me, Riddle," she said, voice nasal in an irritating tone of defiance. Tom raised an eyebrow, biting down onto the apple's remaining flesh and cocking his head. Hermione noticed a small amount of juice trickle from the corner of his lips - such beautifully carved lips, ever so pink - and subsequently blushed at her thoughts, gaze still fixated on that juice. Tom followed her eyes down to his mouth and smirked. _My lips? I knew it, just like every other girl._ _She must be craving my touch by no- oh for the love of - _He raised his fingers to the sticky mess on his lips and wiped it away quickly. _Well, that certainly spoilt my air of terror. _

"Dead men tell no tales, Hermione. I want tales," he stated, calmly, carelessly tossing the apple core into the bin next to the sink. _Did you want her to want you, Tom?_

Hermione pursed her lips, wincing slightly as she brushed a newly forming cruise on her elbow. "Riddle, Voldemort, Tom - whoever you are. I don't have anything, any tales to tell y-"

"Liar."

"Whatever."

Tom raised an eyebrow, smirk settling on one corner of his mouth. "Are you getting hysterical, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked at him, unsure of his words. "No, I'm j-"

Tom pushed himself off the worktop and stalked closer to her, eyes darkening. "Because we don't want you getting hysterical again. I mean, look at how last time turned out."

The girl froze at first, only her hands still shook a little. What was he thinking? This had all gone on long enough - she needed to incapacitate Riddle, ideally kill the bastard, and get out of this place. There would be no record of her in any database, she could get clean away, start somewhere new and-

She was pulled out of her thoughts by his fingers touching her cheek, jumping at the contact. Immediately she began to lash out, punching and kicking whatever she could, hoping that one of them might hit him. Luckily, her left leg aimed true and caught his shin in a harsh kick, causing him to emit a loan growl of pain and stumble backwards. Hermione took off in a run towards the kitchenette - she needed a knife, need a weapon, need something.She barely made it two steps before Tom grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her back into him. He clenched around her wrists, pulling them behind her back and holding them tightly in one hand, long fingers easily subduing her struggles. The other hand raked into her hair, pulling it tightly in a vice-like grip and forcing her to hold still. She cried out at the pain in her scalp, but did not stop trying to kick her legs backwards, desperate to hurt him. But Tom held firm against her rather pathetic struggles, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of her squirming against him. _She smells earthy, clean. I want this closeness in another context, I want...what do I want? Her? No, I want her information. That's all. _

"Calm yourself, calm yourself girl! " he ordered in her ear, lips barely touching the back of her neck.

"I'm not fucking hysterical! Let me go, let me go!" she shouted, tears threatening to crawl from her eyes. What is he planning? Treat her? She didn't want him anywhere near her, let alone...

"Hermione, control yourself! I'm only joking, as if I'd ever want to touch you in that manner," he snorted. _I only want her information. _"Listen, no more of this. I don't want to hurt you tonight, it's not productive or enjoyable for either of us. You think I like having my eardrums assaulted by your noise all the time?"

Hermione stared at him dumbfounded. "But, but, you literally just threw me around the room!"

"You back-chatted me. And, darling, you still have your shoes on. I don't want filth on my carpet," he stated bluntly, as if his demands were rational enough. For a moment longer he held her close to his chest, confused as to why he was enjoying the feeling of her warm body against his. His grip became looser, less threatening and more...heated. Slowly the hands in her hair began to stroke her scalp, rather than assault it, the fingers around her wrists gently skimmed her soft skin - her breathing became more staggered, he could feel it from the way their bodies where pulled flush against one another. Moving his head down slightly, he placed his mouth next to her ear and whispered; "Will you do as I say?" quietly, lips brushing the sensitive skin next to her hairline. She never answered, but he began rapidly losing control of himself when she let out a stifled lustful cry._You want her, don't you Tom? _As that thought rattled his mind, he released his grip and gently shoved her away from him. Turning on his heel, he began to walk back to the kitchen, leaving Hermione standing with her mouth agape.

"You want me...to take off my shoes?" she asked, dazed. What had he just done to her? She assured herself that it must have been some sort of enchantment on his part - that lustful wave that had swept over her body can't surely have been her...no. It was him.

"Yes. Then, we can have dinner."

Hermione sighed wearily. Well, at least he wasn't hurting her. However, caution was still paramount, she would have to watch her food and drink for Veritaserum, watch his hands for wand-work. She pulled out a chair and sat down slowly in front of the kitchen table. Tom smiled and tapped his wand against the neck of the wine bottle, forcing the cork to wriggle free and flop to the table in front of his 'guest'. Hermione stared silently as he began to pour the dark red liquid into the glass in front of her. The deep burgundy was opaque, rich, the smell was phenomenal. But, as he pushed the glass towards her, never taking his eyes from hers, the liquid seemed more..._blood of the enemy._ "Tom?" she asked, quietly. The boy didn't respond, but he turned away from her and the release from his gaze allowed her confidence to rise again. "My secrets are the only thing keeping me alive right now, aren't they?"

Tom sighed as he began pouring the thick green soup into two bone china bowls. His eyes settled on the small crest engraved on the inner rim of each - the Riddle family crest. It was emblazoned on the handle of each piece of cutlery, each bowl, plate and glass in his apartment - the family china and silver were the only things he had taken from Riddle Manor the night he had been there. Well, that and his Father's life. Turning back to the girl, he settled a bowl in front of her, before sitting down opposite with his own.

"This will be the first time that I eat alongside you. Usually it's just you stuffing your face," he sneered, picking up his own wine glass and touching the rim to his lips. "And yes, you're right. Your secrets will keep you safe. But I will have them." _I will have you. _

Hermione picked up her spoon, ignoring his comments and avoiding his gaze. "Well, even more of a reason not to tell you."

"I'll give you a week to tell me. Or else I'm just going to enter that head of yours by force," he said, taking a deep glug from his glass. Placing it back down, his mouth spread into a toothy grin. "If you tell me within that week, I'll obliviate you and send you back into the world. If I have to force it, then I'll make sure you suffer before you die." _You're lying Tom. You want to keep her alive. You want her. You've wanted her since the moment she told you to get out of her room. The moment she challenged you. _

Hermione slurped her soup intentionally loudly, enjoying the disgusted look on his face. Taking the glass in her hand, she began to swirl the liquid before raising the glass in front of her. "Well then, here's to my future demise."

Tom frowned at her, before tapping his glass against hers. "You aren't afraid of death?" he quizzed, watching intently as she downed the rest of her wine.

Hermione giggled, reaching towards the bottle and pouring herself another glass. "Why should I be? It's inevitable, and I accept that for some people, it comes early."

Tom's eyes darkened as he surveyed her second glass of wine. "It can be avoided. There are ways."

Hermione looked up at Tom, knowledge sparkling in her eyes. "No Tom, I know that it can't." She raised her hand and waggled her fingers at him, glaring down at the ring on his little finger. "No matter how many horcruxes one makes."

The hand around his glass clenched tightly, his knuckles turning a vibrant white colour, whilst his face flushed a deep red with rage. Hermione shoved more liquid down her throat as she heard the malice crackling in his words. "Don't try me, little girl."

"I'm not." Hermione laughed and placed her empty glass down and reaching out again.

Tom snatched the bottle away and glared at her. "Don't you think you've had enough?"

"I'm not passing out yet, so...no, I don't think I've had enough," she sneered, fingers drumming against the side of her glass. For a moment the girl sat in silence, eyes cast down at the table thoughtfully. After a while her head snapped up and she let out a sharp; "I hate you."

"You don't really know me, do you?" he shot back.

"Are we going to do this all night?" Hermione growled. "You can ask me these stupid questions all you like, my lips are sealed."

"Well, we could be doing other things all night, but I doubt you'd be game, Hermione," the boy drawled, that devilish smirk crawling back on his face. She scowled back at him.

"I would rather have my skin ripped off," she retorted, scoffing slightly at him. Tom chuckled and pushed the wine bottle back towards her, which she gladly accepted.

"Well, that can be arranged. But maybe after I've had my wicked way with you," he replied, draining his own glass and standing up. With a flick of his wand their empty bowls and cutlery washed, dried and cleared itself away, the cupboard door softly shutting after them. "Right, I think it is late enough, don't you?"

"Late enough for what?"

"Bed."

Hermione squirmed in her chair slightly. "Okay," she sighed. "Tom, what is your plan here? I'd rather know what I have coming, if you please."

Riddle shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets and gave her a handsome smile. _Lie. _"As I said before, you have a week to tell me before I shove a bottle of Veritaserum down your throat, or enter your mind. After that, I'll bury you in the snow and let them find you next Spring. However, I'd rather not bring attention to myself after..." _After I opened the Chamber and killed my entire family. "_After all. And I'd like to think of myself as a reasonable man," _Plus, you intrigue me. I want you as much as I'd like your secrets. "_And I have two weeks left before school starts again, so...you have a week. I'll be civil, I won't hurt you." _I want you screaming my name in pleasure before you scream it under torture. _That last thought unnerved Tom slightly - he had never craved a woman before, but this girl was a little different. He supposed it was the mystery surrounding her that made him lust after her. Her constant opposition towards him was another turn on - he loved a challenge. She wasn't bad looking now that he thought about it - her hair was a nightmare, her manners were vile, but her face was delicate, sprayed with light freckles, and her body was petite, soft. And she was naturally talented, powerful, her skills in that brief duel had proven that. When she had been fully powered, Tom had felt the force of her magic in the air, trying to drive him away. The sensation was wonderful - no-one had ever managed to crack his facade before. No, he was never going to kill her after all this - it would be far more fun to keep her, use her, _break her. _

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but her thoughts pulled her back. Why did he want to keep her alive? Why not just practice Legilimency on her now? Just to toy with her? What did he want? "Don't lie to me, Riddle. If you really, truly wanted this information you would have drugged this wine that I have been inhaling, have me babble the truth over dinner, then 'cursed me to dust'. You wouldn't wait a week," she said, methodically rationalizing the situation. She got to her feet and padded to the other side of the room, not facing him. "Why are you keeping me alive?"

_Well, she is a clever little thing. No point in holding back, I suppose. She'll work it out eventually. _"I...I don't know," he managed to croak out. _What do you want Tom? _

He stepped closer to her, rounding on her until she was trapped with her back against the wall. _What do you want? _Leaning down, he placed his hands on either side of her head, eyes sparkling with a mad, predatory glint. The girl underneath him visibly shuddered as he drew nearer. He was too close, far too close - his perfect, flawless face and those beautiful, pouting lips that...that would utter the killing curse in years to come, would kill and maim and torture everyone she loved- the key part of this sentence, she realised, was 'years to come'. This was Tom Riddle, schoolboy, not Voldemort, Dark Lord. Of course, there were aspects of similarity, but there was still humanity in this boy, still a chance of remorse. Yes, he had killed his Father, but...surely the damage of one horcrux was far easier to repair than that of seven? Could she patch up Tom? A more appropriate question would be - should she? He deserved nothing from her, in the short space of knowing him he had already proved a nightmare - but that nagging feeling of hope tugged at her heart. Maybe if she could fix Tom Riddle she could save her future - she could save her future without having to spill his blood on her hands. But how?

_Give in Hermione. _

_Give into Tom. _

She moved her hands up to lightly rest on his chest, smiling as his eyes widened at her touch. Her eyes moved up to meet his, trying not to flinch under the intensity of his gaze. Could she do this? Images of Harry, Ron and various other deceased friends flickered in front of her eyes, their eyeless sockets staring blankly at her, mouths silently urging her to continue her deed. This wasn't a betrayal - it was a sacrifice.

"What do you want, Tom?" she whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the reviews guys! This chapter is more Hermione's POV, just as the last was Tom's. Enjoy.

Hermione let out a breath as she watched Tom's back retreating into the kitchen area. Her question seemed to stump him - he had immediately retracted his hands from their position by her head and stumbled backwards, away from her touch against his chest.

"What do you want, Tom?" she asked again, her heart thudding hard enough for it to resonate in her ears. She was still reeling at her decision - could Tom be changed? Could he even be driven from his course of hatred by her? He certainly seemed to be conflicted in his feelings towards her, his currently shaking hands showed her that. But would he ever believe in her lie of affection? She would play this card for as long as possible - until the creation of his next horcrux - and if she couldn't ensnare him by then, murder was still an option. Despite her initial attack against the boy, Hermione never wanted to be a killer, she still doubted her ability to cast a killing curse with enough meaning for it to take effect. This was better, love was her lure and seduction was her sacrifice. For her friends lives, for the lives of people she would never know and for the safety of the future. She rolled her hands into fists and let out a deep, shuddering sigh.

Tom must have noticed the soft noise behind him, for he turned on his heel and stared back at her. His face was blank, hard, emotionless. "I want you to go to bed," he said, the tone of his voice matching his expression.

Hermione forced a weak smile towards him. "O-okay."

"Why are you now obeying me?" he enquired, raising an eyebrow. The girl raised one of her own in return, taking a moment to survey him. It was a shame that he was already so tainted in her eyes, because he certainly was spectacular. Physical beauty aside, she had gleamed from the short monologues he had given whilst visiting her in the asylum over the past month that he was incredibly intelligent, pushing the boundaries of so many different types of magic even at this early age. He may have even peaked her interest had he been a mere fellow student at Hogwarts, he certainly would have challenged her top-of-the-class position. Her brow furrowed slightly - why would he throw all of this away?

"I don't know what else to do," she replied, honestly, shrugging her shoulders.

Tom nodded curtly, pointing towards his bedroom. An unpleasant, nervous flutter began to pain Hermione's stomach. Sleeping with Voldemort was not high on her bucket list, even when he looked like this. _Think of your friends. Think of the future. _Summoning her courage with shaky breaths, she followed his direction and began to walk silently into his bedroom, feeling his presence following close behind her. She stopped before the bed and turned to face him. His eyes were unbearable, glaring at her with an intense lust. Lust or hatred, she wasn't quite certain. He walked forward to close the space between them and stuffed his hands in his pockets, that gaze beginning to rake down her form.

"W-where am I going to sleep? There's only one bed in here," she stammered, already predicting the answer. _No fear Hermione, show no fear. Think of Harry's face, Ron's red ears, Ginny's smile..._

Tom's face was still cast in a serious expression. "Obviously you'll have to sleep in that one then, won't you?"

Hermione swallowed, trying desperately to stop her features twisting into a grim scowl. "I...I guess so," she replied. She turned away from him immediately and quickly slipped under the covers, still fully clothed.

Something in Tom's demeanor changed at her accepting words, his controlled facade seemed to completely slip away and that beautiful, horrid smirk slid back onto his face. Feeling the mattress dip beside her, she closed her eyes and let out a small whimper. She tried to distance her mind from the situation - he was a good looking, intelligent male. That was all. He wasn't a Dark Lord, a killer, the monster that would ruin her lif-

No, he was just a boy.

Hermione was brought from her reverie by the feeling of his hands cupping her cheeks. His touch was electric, disgusting - she twisted, not wanting those murderous hands on her skin. "T-Tom? What are you doing?"

"Be quiet, Hermione," he said, gently, getting onto the bed and moving close to her, pulling the covers back slowly. He must've noticed her tensing, seen that she was close to bolting out of the room, because he grabbed her hands in his and straddled her hips to pin her underneath him. "You asked me what I wanted," he breathed, restraining her hands on either side of her head. _For your friends, for the future...no no, please. _His face lowered towards her and his lips softly touched the side of her neck, causing a shiver to run down her body. "And I want you."

"B-but I-"

"I said be quiet," he hissed, before biting down harshly on her neck. Hermione let out a cry as he began to softly lick the sore area he had just created. As he continued his assault down her collarbone, the girl let her mind drift to happier times. _First year of Hogwarts, the praise she received from each teacher, Harry and Ron at Christmas_- Riddle motioned something with his hand and her clothes shred themselves from her body. She noticed his small groan of appreciation at her naked form. She tried not to vomit - _Fighting the mountain troll, hugging Hagrid, staying in the Burrow for the first time - _his mouth was hot against her skin, tugging at her chest with his teeth - _waking up from petrification, running across the Great Hall to reunite with her best friends -_ she let out a harsher cry as Tom bit down on the swell of her breast, smirking up at her reaction. His eyes were devilishly beautiful from his angle, his raven hair flopped gently over his brows, lips pursed in glee. Hermione leant her head back and looked towards the ceiling before shutting her eyes. _I am not here. I'm in The Three Broomsticks and I'm having my first Butterbeer..._His hands let go of her wrists and joined his mouth in teasing her, one running down her chest and circling around a nipple. Tom moved his head down again, running his tongue over the hardened bud, eliciting shivers of pleasure from her body. _This is wrong, I'm not here, I'm not here._

Hermione cursed her body for reacting to his ministrations, shuddering as his fingers raked down her stomach and over her hips. As they inched closer to her intimacy, Hermione began to panic - she couldn't do this, killing him was easier, so much easier than having to go through with this. Tom Riddle didn't deserve affection, he didn't deserve any emotion but hatred from her. Her free hands flew up to his wrists, stopping them from their journey downwards. His head snapped up to look at her, eyes fuming at her action.

"Please Tom, don't, I don't want y-."

"Do you not understand 'be quiet'?" he quizzed, turning his wrists to grab her wrists again. He yanked them towards him, pulling her body into a sitting position. "I want you, Hermione."

"I don't want you!" she cried into his face, an angry scowl beginning to form on her face. Tom's features twisted into a look of hatred, his chest emitting a deep growl. "Tom, let go," she said, as calmly as she could manage, trying to tug her hands away from his grip. His reaction was to tighten it.

"But, I want you. You can't just say no!" he said, voice raised and indignant.

"Yes I can! So get off me and go find someone else to shag," she hissed, her eyes narrowing at him.

Another growl left his lips. Hermione's heart was thudding at a rapid pace, and she tried to push her terror back with courage. _I'm a Gryffindor after all. _"I tried to be nice, Hermione." Her eyes widened at his words, fear taking over entirely. "But I always get what I want."

With that, Tom raised his hand and struck her face forcefully. As the girl beneath him let out a moan of pain, he grabbed the back of her hair with one hand and brought her both back down to a lying position, his legs moving to settle in between her thighs. She let out a scream, twisting furiously against his grip.

"Tom, please! Please, stop!" she cried, tears rolling freely from her eyes and soaking her cheeks. The boy didn't seem to hear her though, as he tugged harder on the hair balled in his hand. Hermione didn't know what to do - no magic, no way out of his grip, she didn't want this anymore, she couldn't go through with it and he was still trying to-

The girl let out another cry as Tom's fingers ran over her intimate area and down to her entrance. With a quick motion he shoved two digits inside of her, wriggling them painfully.

"Not wet yet, dear?" he quizzed, cocking his head and smirking.

"Fuck you, you sick bastard," she breathed out, sobs wracking her chest. His fingers stretched her uncomfortably, there was no gentleness to his assault, he merely slammed his hand inside of her as hard as he could. "Tom please, I won't disobey you anymore, please, just - ah! Stop!"

Tom stilled his hand, keeping it inside of her, but ceasing the painful movements. "Are you going to tell me what I want to know?" he asked, eyes shining with excitement. Hermione winced and another small sob left her lips, before she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes slowly. "I suppose I win either way. Information, or a decent fuck - it's up to you, Hermione. Just say the word and _this-_" he plunged his fingers back inside of her, adding a third to her displeasure, " - can stop."

Hermione didn't move from her position, a number of tears falling silently from her closed eyes. _I'm not here. I don't exist. _

Tom sighed comically, moving his hand from her cunt to his belt. "I gave you the option, Hermione. This is your choice," he said, voice quivering slightly. His hand moved from her bushy hair to stroke the tears from her face. "Look at me." She remained still, her face half buried in the pillows. Tom took her chin in his hand and yanked it towards him, moving his face closer to hers. "Look at me!" he shouted at her. Hermione opened her watery eyes briefly, his twisted, beautiful face looking at her angrily.

With a jolt Hermione sat up in the bed, the duvet slipping from the top half of her body. Her breathing was out of control and ragged as she looked around in the darkness of the room blindly searching for her wand. Instead, her hand hit the beside lamp, which flickered on at her touch. She let out a shriek at the sudden light - _fucking touch sensor fucking hell - _waiting for her vision to adjust.

"Stop your screaming and turn that out," a deep voice said, from the other side of the room.

Hermione looked at the source of the voice, to see Tom laying in a smaller, single bed - she guessed it was a transfigured trunk - at the foot of the larger double she now occupied. "W-what?" she stammered. Hadn't he just been on her?

"It's three in the morning, Hermione. For fuck's sake, let me sleep," he mumbled, head raising from the pillows and glaring at her. His hair was ruffled out of its usual perfect parting, eyes bleary with sleep. So...she'd been dreaming?

"What happened?" she asked, still unsure of what was going on.

"You went to bed. You started dreaming about some nonsense and screeching 'Stop!' over and over. Can you ever be silent?" he hissed, laying his head down again and turning onto his back. He let out another huff and threw back the covers to his bed, getting out of bed all of a sudden. Hermione flinched away from him, earning a raised eyebrow from the boy. She noticed his attire - a simple, loose fitting black t-shirt and boxers - and couldn't help but blush. It was almost indecent to see him so..undressed. He left the room for a moment, giving Hermione a chance to breathe. Letting out a long sigh, she relaxed into the mountain of pillows behind her - so, he wasn't trying to assault her. Well, that was a relief, but why had she dreamt of it? The boy in question returned, holding a glass of clear liquid in each hand, reaching out to offer one to her. She gave him a weary smile and accepted the glass, but never took a sip. Tom sat on the end of the bed and leant back against the wooden footboard, taking a deep drink himself.

"It's gin. I thought it might help you sleep better," he muttered, shaking his now half-empty glass at her.

"Oh, um," she nodded at him, nervously, relenting and letting the liquid touch her lips. It burnt at first, but certainly helped to soothe her shaking.

"So," he began, shifting his body slightly to move his legs onto the bed. "What were you dreaming about?" Hermione spluttered into her glass, gin shooting up her nostrils and starting a coughing fit. Tom let out a short laugh, taking the glass from her as she gained control of her breathing. "I just noticed that you shouted my name a lot and wondered if I was any good?"

"Excuse me?!" she snapped, wiping the gin from the corner of her mouth.

"Well, it sounded like a sex dream."

Hermione scoffed at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Hardly, I can't even remember what I was dreaming about."

"Sure," he said, an irritating smile lingering on his face.

"If you must know, Tom, you were trying to hurt me," she paused, staring down at her hands uncomfortably. "Kind of...hurt me in a, uh, well..."

Tom's gaze hardened and his boyish grin faded into a frown. "I would never do that to you, Hermione. Give me some credit as an emotional being." With that, he stood, placed the glasses on top of his desk and nodded his head towards the beside lamp. "Now, do turn that off so I can have some peace. And don't worry, I won't _touch you_ in the night."

Hermione lay back against the pillows, head reeling. So, he felt no attraction towards her. That tension in the living room must have been a moment of madness on his part. Her plan would never work. _Give me some credit as an emotional being. _She supposed she would have to - her wasn't that hairless, heartless monster yet, he was just a boy. Her plan would have to work, she couldn't kill him, she was not a killer. Her hand tapped the lamp and a calm darkness settled over the room.

"Goodnight Tom."

"Night, Hermione."

He lay on his back, arms folded under his head, looking up at the blackness. He could hear her steady breath again, she was asleep. Reaching down to the floor, he picked up his precious wand and held it steady in his right hand. The last spell still resonated from the wood.

_OBLIVIATE._

"Look at me!" he screeched, shaking her hard. Her eyes moved up to his, staring back blankly, defeated.

_What do you want, Tom?_

He wanted the girl, yes, but he didn't want...this. He didn't want those dead eyes - he wanted his little liar, his little fighter. Tom Riddle was many things, but he was not a rapist. Murderer, maybe, but rapist? Never. Suddenly a feeling of disgust washed over him. The tears on her cheeks weren't loving, the tension in her muscles wasn't there due to pleasure - this was all his fault. He couldn't quite understand the feeling swelling in his stomach - guilt, perhaps? No, he was incapable of such emotion, surely? He would chalk it up to disgust at her sniveling appearance. If he wanted to fuck her, she would have to be willing, or else he would just end up with this mess underneath him. Shaking his head slightly, he released her from his grip and pushed himself up off the bed. Hermione raised her head, immediately scrabbling up and crawling further into the pillows, her wide eyes never leaving his form.

He adjusted his shirt before turning to her with a soft smile. "I'm sorry. I-I get out of control sometimes. I try to be good, I try, Hermione," he murmured, more to himself than her. It was true, he was usually excellent at maintaining his facade, being cool and calm. Even his violence was elegant, never physical, never grotesque. He considered himself a clean, pathological killer, if nothing else. Intelligence was his weapon, not his fists. Yet, he'd laid his hands on her - quite obviously there would be a bruise across her cheek in the morning. He'd...

His hands twitched uncomfortably, fingers clenching around his wand. Wouldn't it just be easier to kill her? _The FUCKING INFORMATION TOM. _He groaned inwardly and raised his wand towards her forehead. The girl closed her eyes as he pressed the wood into her skin, letting out a sigh with a small smile.

"I never thought it would end this way," she whispered.

Tom grimaced and shook his head. "And it's not going to. I-" he paused, twisting the wand against her skin. "I don't want you to think of me like this. _Obliviate." _


	5. Chapter 5

Tom sighed and leant further back into his chair, running his fingers along the rim of his glass tumbler before knocking back the harsh whisky inside. He had always prefer muggle alcohol, it was far more effective than the wizarding alternative. His eyes slid sideways to look over at the crumpled up body on his living room floor. Her hair was mussed, strewn across her tear-stained face, body half-dressed and bruised - one would have thought that she had been dropped from a great height by the state of her. If not for the steady rising and falling of her chest, one might've guessed that she had not survived the fall. This was hopeless. Tom settled his glass back down on the side table and lent back into his chair, looking away from Hermione.

It'd happened again, for the sixth night in a row. During he day, he would go out, continue his research and try to further his goals - at present he was attempting to locate Slytherin's once-precious locket, something he felt had belonged to him since birth. So far, his searches had been fruitless. Later, he would shop for the evening meal at the local markets, before returning home to _her. _She was proving to be quite the irritant, not at all the cure to his already aggravated mood. Always questioning, questioning, questioning, with that petulant little frown on her face:

_Tom, where do you go everyday?_

_Tom, why can't I go with you?_

_Tom, why can't you understand that keeping me locked up isn't going to get you any information. _

He couldn't understand why he put up with it - he supposed he just didn't know what else to do with her. Killing her was now completely out of the question, not entirely because he couldn't bear to see those furious eyes so empty, but because of an encounter with his _favourite _teacher earlier on today.

_Tom was walking back with food, sighing darkly into the bitter wind air. Fucking cold today. He turned to the blank stretch of wall that comprised his front door for a moment before turning at the sound of his name coming from behind him. Dumbledore had appeared out of nowhere, smiling politely at him from the centre of the busy street of Hogsmeade. He had approached his student, eyes twinkling dangerously. Tom made sure to stand taller, blocking the view of the wall behind him from Dumbledore - the old codger wasn't to know he had taken residence here and he certainly wasn't going to let him see the girl he had stashed away inside. _

"_Why, hello Tom. What brings you so close to Hogwarts at this time of year?" _

"_I'm just...shopping for supplies. For school."_

"_Ah, I see." Dumbledore replied, a small smile gracing his wizened features. Old coot. Tom looked at his watch and up towards the dying sun, then smiled brightly back towards his teacher. _

"_Well Sir, I must be going. I do hate being out in this weather after dark."_

"_Of course, Tom. It is a harsh Winter this year," he replied, waving his vibrantly coloured mittens in front of Tom. His eyes slid down to Tom's shopping bags, which were brimming with food, then looked past his shoulder towards the wall behind him. "I look forward to next term." _

_Tom's heart began to race slightly. He hated that Dumbledore had this effect on him. But he couldn't help feel...uncomfortable around him. Like those twinkling eyes could see through every lie he told, like he could crack his facade with a look. And he simply exuded power - Tom wasn't sure if it was dark or light. Next term - of course. It was only a week away. He couldn't just leave Hermione in his flat, she would find a way out eventually - she was a clever little girl. Besides, he could hardly host his 'meetings' in his flat whilst she was there, and he certainly couldn't do it in Hogwarts. An idea suddenly crossed his mind and he moved to halt Dumbledore as the older man turned to leave._

"_Sir. I actually have something to ask you," he began. _

"_Yes?" the older man asked, eyebrows raised. _

"_Well. I. This holiday I...well, I'm eighteen now and...well...I," he said, trying to appear flustered. "I met a girl."_

_Dumbledore's mouth opened slightly in surprise. "Oh, congratulations, my boy!" he chimed, still a little shocked at Riddle's admission. _

"_She is a witch, home-schooled, but came here when her family were attacked by Grindelwald. She speaks little about it, I wish I knew more," he continued, lies spinning easily. The mention of a girlfriend seemed to have unsettled Dumbledore - something he planned to use to his advantage. "Well, she doesn't have anyone to go to. And I don't want to just leave her for weeks on end in a hotel, or at...the orphanage."_

"_I see."_

"_Is there any way I could bring her to Hogwarts? I know it's odd to ask, but if there was such a thing as couple's accommodation...we're both of adult age and- I could take care of her, she needn't be a student. Gosh, she has enough intelligence to be a teacher from what I can tell. Well, I just feel so guilty," he finished. Seeing Dumbledore's hesitance, Tom let loose with the final point. "I love her."_

_Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a passion he had never seen before. "It is very...unorthodox. But in these times of war, we must do what we can. This girl, is she well-read?" Tom nodded. "Well, we might see if she is interested in helping the school Librarian, she does tend to get stressed with all the new students. And even with magic, it is a large job for one woman..." The older man seemed to be voicing his inner thoughts, rather than speaking to Tom directly. "Unorthodox, indeed. But she may be good for you - and it will be good for her to get a little peace from his war, I suppose. I will see to it that you are both given your own quarters and speak to Headmaster Dippet. Now, I must be going Tom." He turned to go, but looked back at the dark haired boy one last time, sending him a glittering wink. "Have a splendid dinner with her."_

Tom reached into his jacket pocket a removed a gleaming silver case. Abraxas had sent it to him for Christmas, though he received nothing in return - every will to show off their wealth, the Malfoy family. The silver was engraved 'T. ', and contained his favourite brand of cigarettes, a fine tobacco wrapped in black liquorice papers. It made the horrid tang of tar taste ever so much sweeter when inhaled, and to his delight, the smoke that curled out of one's mouth was a gorgeous shade of black. Lighting the cigarette wandlessly, he settled back into his chair and kicked off his shoes. How was he to tell her this news? She would wake up in a couple of hours, thinking she had been asleep, obliviated of his actions once again. He couldn't help it, something inside him snapped whenever she opened that pouty little mouth of hers. He'd never been a physically abusive person, oh no, magic, or psychological torture was his outlet of wrath usually and if he'd needed anyone taken care of, Abraxus was always ready to lend a fist. But his hands ached to scratch that china-doll skin, to pull her hair, to make her bleed as he fucked her into dust. Tom inhaled the dark smoke angrily, taking a moment to let the taste linger on his tongue before breathing it back out.

She just made him so angry. He would arrive home, they would eat dinner. She would ignore him. He would ask her for information. She would make some snide comment. He would see red and the next thing he knew, she was half-naked, on the floor, begging him not to abuse her further. He would never go through with anything, just wipe her memory and fix her breaks, then carry on as usual. Tonight had been particularly rough on Hermione, he realised. _Dumbledore's fault. _

"_Are you going to tell me tonight?"_

_The girl across the table rolled her eyes and shoved her empty plate towards him. "No."_

_Tom silently collected their dishes and flicked his wand at the sink, forcing the inanimate objects to begin cleaning themselves. "Why not?"_

"_Because I don't want to. Because I can't."_

"_Can't?" This was the first time she'd used this particular word, and it puzzled him. "I don't see why not? Only your stubbornness is standing in the way, what's stopping you?"_

"_I don't want to mess up- I just don't want to okay?" she spat, angrily. _

"_Don't want to mess up what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning back against the sink. Hermione stood up from her chair, chin raised in the air arrogantly. She wordlessly turned on the spot and began to walk towards their shared bedroom. "Where do you think you're going?"_

"_To bed. I usually go to bed after you ask me these stupid questions, don't I Tom?" she snapped back at him, running her hands through her wild mane. _

"_I'm not done talking," he said, coldly, approaching her slowly. Immediately, he noticed the fear creeping into her eyes - of course she didn't remember his other attacks, no-one could fight off memory charms. But still, fear lurked in those big brown eyes, one beginning to wince as he grew closer. _

"_Well, I am!" she retorted, confident voice wavering slightly. She turned again and began to hurry away, slamming the bedroom door behind her. Tom sighed and clenched his hands by his sides. Stupid girl. He walked towards the door and grabbed the handle, pushed it down and - Immediately his face flushed red with anger. She'd locked the fucking door. He knocked lightly at first, trying not to let his rage get the better of him. _

"_Hermione, open the door," he said softly. No reply. He began pounding the door harder and harder, shouting "Open up!" after every third hit. Eventually he fell back and stretched his throbbing hand - idiot! Just use magic, it's what it's there for. Wandlessly, he cast Reducto at the wooden door, blasting it straight out of the frame onto the wall on the other side of the bedroom. A smirk stretched across his face as he entered the room and saw Hermione's terrified figure standing on the opposite side of the bed. In her hand she held an empty wine bottle, which she was now pointing towards him. _

"_Get away from me, you madman!" she shrieked, visibly quaking now. It was thrilling to Riddle; her tiny trembling hands, the way her eyes were almost popping out of her head but still she attempted to fight back. He jerked his head slightly and the bottle flew from her hands and smashed into the wall beside her. Now weaponless, she tried to back away, until an invisible tug of magic pulled her face first onto the bed. Tom jumped on her immediately, before she started trying to scrabble away, those little hands clawing at the duvet, at him, at anything they could find. He straddled her lower back and fisted her hair in his hands, elated once more. Something inside him told him he was disgusting, but something far darker was urging him on. He noted that the former voice sounded a lot like Hermione. She cried out as he pulled her upwards by the hair, bringing his face down to meet her ear. He kissed her neck lightly, loving the tight strain this position forced on the muscles. Her rapid pulse felt delightful under his lips. "Stop it Tom, let me go!"_

"_Why did you lock me out, honey?" he whispered, lips trailing along her ear softly. He let go of her hair as she began to shudder and flipped her body over, wanting to see the expression on her face. He wasn't disappointed - it was a picture of fear. "God, I love seeing you like this."_

"_What do you mean? Get off!" she shouted. Without his knowledge, she had managed to free one of her arms from the grip of his legs and immediately flung it forward to punch his cheek. Tom let out a growl, head spinning slightly from the impact, before grabbing her wily hand and pinning it back beside her head. "Let me go! Why am I still bloody here, Riddle? I'm of no use to you!"_

"_Shut up!" he shouted, free hand striking her face quickly then moving down to enclose her pale neck. Everything about her was so breakable, he adored that, it made him want to hurt her all the more. "Hermione, you bring all this upon yourself. Just tell me!"_

_He knew though, in that moment as he watched her struggle to breath under his grip, that he no longer cared about what she knew. He just wanted her. He wanted her to play with like this, to make him feel this way - just for a bit longer. Just until school started, then things would be different. Things could be different. _

Another smoky breath left his lungs, sending a pillar of thick black fog into the room. He loved the way it hung in the air, it looked almost as if rainclouds had settled in the atmosphere of his flat. He couldn't keep rowing like this, he couldn't keep wiping her memory and fixing her up - it was wrong. This strange little witch deserved better, far better. Perhaps...

The boy stubbed his cigarette out on the side of the armchair, tracing the burnt out hole for a moment with his finger before silently repairing it with his magic. A thought so devilish had entered his head that it caused a wide, toothy grin to spread out across his face. Oh yes, things could certainly be different - of course, he would need to control himself, but in the confines of Hogwarts that should be easier. He jumped to his feet and rushed to the door next to his bedroom, which led to the one room he had never let Hermione enter - his study. It was furnished in a similar style to the rest of the house, but its contents were far messier than anyone would have believed of the nit-picking Tom Riddle. Papers were pinned to every available wall space, random artifacts hung suspended in the air and the odd cauldron would occasionally spit out liquid that left foul stenches, colourful splatters or acidic burn marks on the floor. The boy rushed to the bookcase on the far side of the room, pulling out a number of books frantically before finding the one he needed. _Most Potent Potions. _With a flick of his wand the ingredients he needed flew from various spots around the room and remained bobbing in the air beside her, ready to be used. He swiped a hand across his desk, knocking bundles of papers onto the floor and settled his cleanest cauldron in the centre before taking a seat and settling the book next to him. A quick tap of his wand sent the pages flying until they reached their intended destination - _Chapter Nine, Memory Spells: Revision and Rejigging. _There it was - the list for this potion was extensive, but luckily it only took a couple of hours to finish - perhaps just an hour for a genius like himself.

He lit the flame beneath the cauldron and began pouring, cutting, squeezing, turning, stirring, heating, cooling...

One hour and forty five minutes. It would have been quicker, had he not shredded the Dung Beetles rather than crushed them. But, he was being hasty, he needed to finish this before Hermione woke up, or she would certainly suspect something of his absence. Normality was required for this to work. Dinner as usual. Soup. Overpoweringly garlickly Tomato Soup.

Tom breathed in deeply, pointing his wand towards the cauldron - last thing to do. "I, Tom Marvolo Riddle," he said, softly, eyes glimmering as purple threads began to pour from his wand into the liquid. "Cast a permanent memory. She will remember thus..."

The Hogwarts Express let out a shrill whistle as it departed from Hogsmeade Station. Shadowy figures of all shapes and sizes began milling towards boats, or carriages, chatting gleefully about the school year to come - except for one. Hermione stood, looking around nervously at her new surroundings. She had never seen such a beautiful castle before - and so many students! She clutched her suitcase tighter in her gloved hands and shivered as the falling snow tickled her cheeks. Did she have everything? Suitcase, wand, purse...yes, that was about it. The girl wasn't quite sure where she should be headed, she had to inform Headmaster Dippet of her arri- Hermione let out a small shriek as she felt arms close around her waist and a body press close against her back. She struggled to get out of their grip at first, until a familiar scent washed over her. Lips skimmed over her ear and she could feel them curve into a smile as she relaxed.

"I'm sorry I had to sit in a separate compartment, darling. Head Boy has to do his duties, you know," a deep male voice whispered into her ear. She shivered at the feeling of his breath against her skin, turning around in his arms to face him. Such a beautiful face her Tom had, such lovely pale skin and big, shiny eyes...

"I was most upset, I had to sit all on my own!" she said, feigning offense. Tom smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead. Hermione looked upwards, expectantly, and was rewarded with a gentle kiss upon her cold lips.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to make it up to you, Hermione."

"Oh, and how do you plan on doing that?" she teased, voice provoking innuendo.

"I suppose you'll have to wait and see. After the First Feast I'll show you our room and...we'll, wait and see," he laughed, stroking back one of her unruly curls. She blushed a deep maroon - even a brief touch of his fingers could insight mad sensations around her body. Something felt a little odd about going to his school, however. She wouldn't be a student like him, what if everyone thought her uneducated, or ugly, not good enough to be with the illustrious Tom Riddle, beautiful, kind Tom Riddle?

"But Tom-"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Do people even know you have a girlfriend? Am I going to be a laughing stock, or-or, will I embarrass you? You must introduce me to all your friends, gosh I'm-"

"Patience, little one. You'll meet everyone in good time. And tomorrow, I'll show you the library you'll be working at."

Hermione blushed as his hands made their way under her coat to rest on her waist. "It is kind of Hogwarts to take me in," she said, resting her head against his chest. He was warm, a constant comfort in her war-torn life. "I'm looking forwards to forgetting about Grindelwald and this ridiculous war and immersing myself in good literature!" She paused for a moment, her nose wrinkling upwards in slight confusion. "Though I must say, I've become excellent at repressing my memory, I can only remember...running, now. You've been such a good influence on me, darling. Thank you." She looked up from his chest and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the lips. Their eyes connected for a moment and she squeezed his torso in a gentle hug. "You know I love you."

Tom laughed lightly, taking her suitcase in one hand, her mittened hand in the other, and leading her towards one of the coaches that waited outside of the station. He opened the door for her and watched her enter, grin still firmly set in place. "I know."

Ah, dear readers, more shall be explained in the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

It was that damn Amortentia, he knew it. The memory potion had worked fantastically on Hermione's memory, the first two weeks at Hogwarts had gone perfectly. He was currently sat in the library, eyes lazily drifting up to look at her as she was working. She had gone about her job like a professional, Tom had noted the permanent happy smile that lingered on her lips as her hands drifted over the spines of thousands of books. The girl had even managed to get on the good side of the frankly miserable librarian, Madame Cara. The latter had even begun offering students a weak smile as they entered the library, instead of her usual glare-frown combination. But the first week had been almost unbearable when they were alone together - her usual fiery standoffishness had been replaced by an overwhelming desire to please him, she became clingy, romantic...everything he hated. He couldn't work out what was wrong at first, the potion had been a success - it only took another look at the ingredients to see what had happened. A number of the materials, when brewed in such a manner, would produced similar effects to that damn love-potion that he was so familiar with. A scowl settled across his face as his thoughts turned to his Mother and his failure of a Father. He had promised on his Mother's death that he would go back to Riddle Manor some day, that he would ruin his Father's looks, that he would peel the flesh from his skin and make the filthy muggle bastard pay for everything. He wanted blood, lots and lots of blood. After his realization he had re-evaluated his methods and siphoned the love potion from the mixture, hoping that the memory charm would hold. Luckily, it had - and he had his Hermione back. The girl looked up from her papers and raised her eyebrows at him, before turning her back on him. Tom nodded at her, irritated and looked back to his book.

"_Please stop staring at me, Hermione," he hissed, without looking up from his text book. "And close your mouth, you're drooling." Hermione blushed a deep shade of purple and immediately closed her mouth, sitting down on the armchair opposite his. He had already settled another cup of hot chocolate laced with his memory potion in front of her. It needed to be taken consistently every day for three weeks, and then the effects would be permanent. Perfectly permanent. Dippet had come to the conclusion that the Heads of Year quarters would serve them best as a couple - it had privacy, two bedrooms, shared living space downstairs and a shared bathroom. The Head Girl, Minerva, had been only too happy to give up her room and move back into Gryffindor Tower - she had always taken a strong dislike towards Tom, ignoring him during classes and glaring at him across the Great Hall, for reasons he couldn't fathom. Perhaps she was just of the same suspicious ilk as Dumbledore. Nevertheless, Tom was happy with the arrangement, with Hermione nestled in another room, he was less tempted to hurt her, or play with her. Actually now that he thought of it, he didn't really want to in her current moony, dreamy-eyed state. He wanted his Hermione back, his feisty, fighty little horror. _

"_I'm sorry Tom, I just get distracted by you," she apologized, bottom lip pouting outwards. Her hands settled around the sides of the mug in front of her and she raised it to her lips to drink, that dazed, sleepy look settling in again, her skin turning a slightly sickly shade of pale. He hadn't touched her once like this. Physically of course, she was identical, but he wanted that brilliant mind back, he wanted someone to challenge him. He just needed to learn how to control his temper, he wanted to keep the girl but in a way, he knew he would never be able to truly feel satisfied unless she wanted him of her own volition. _

"_Can you smell something?" she asked, dreamily. "Smells like...old leather books and-and..." The girl breathed in the scent of the drink in front of her and smiled at him. "And you." Tom shook his head and Hermione giggled, raising the mug of hot chocolate towards him. The smell hit him hard - _

Tom shut the book he had been reading and settled back into his chair, surveying the object of his fascination as she sat re-organizing a stack of academic essays into alphabetical order. He'd wiped the memories of her love-affected state, she would realise something was up if her behaviour changed so rapidly. But still, he had to charm her somehow, and what with his tried-and-tested approach of being nightmarishly handsome with just a hint of darkness not working, he was at a loss. Slightly miffed, he took to his feet and placed his book down in front of her.

"Ready to go?" he asked, bluntly, nodding towards the door.

"Just about," she replied, not looking up from her papers, not moving. Tom's jaw twitched in anger. Five days she had been back to her normal personality state, albeit still memory modified, and she was already aggravating him to no end. Calmly, he placed his hands on the stack of papers in front of her and gently pushed them towards her, off the table, smirking as they became jumbled in her lap and over the floor. "You sodding idiot, I spent ages putting those in order!" she shouted, glaring up at him angrily.

"Hush now dear, this is a library," he retorted, amused at her reaction.

"Oh shut up Tom, it's only you and me in here," she spat back, pulling various papers up from the floor. Tom sighed and flicked his wand towards her. The papers immediately began shuffling themselves in the correct order, whirling around the girl before settling in a neat pile on her desk.

"I don't know why you don't just use magic," he said, quirking an eyebrow as Hermione angrily snatched up her bookbag and began to walk towards the door. She snapped her fingers and the library lights flickered out, various doors around the room began to shut and a single book flew through the air into her outstretched hand. The couple stopped outside the main door as Hermione locked up, before making their way back to their shared dorm.

"Because I like to read them as I go," she said, face still stuck in an irritable scowl.

"No wonder nothing ever gets done."

"Shut up, Tom."

The rest of the walk was silent.

Upon arrival, Hermione immediately threw herself into the armchair closest to the fire and began reading. The girl never stopped - surely her brain was tired by now? Tom sighed and shook his head at her, shrugging off his outer robe and settling in the armchair opposite her. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his satchel into his lap, sorting through bottles, parchment and quills before pulling out a stack of textbooks. There was still the problem of Slytherin's locket to be found - where was he, where was that note about Hez-

"What are you reading?" a voice piped up, drawing his attention away from his previous thoughts.

"Hmm, oh. This," he replied, holding up a battered Dark Arts textbook. Hermione raised an eyebrow and returned to her own reading.

"And you?" Tom asked, taking a quill and ink from another pocket of his bag.

"Just something about Potions. Did you know that the late method for grinding the lacewing fl-" Hermione rambled, looking up from her book just at the moment that Tom slapped another book down onto the ever growing pile on the table next to him. It was an ordinary book, black, leather. There was no title, no author detailed on the spine. She had never seen it before to her recollection, but something about it was just so very familiar. She must know it. She knew it was his diary. There was a name emblazoned in gold near the bottom of the back cover -

_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. _

_A diary lying in a pool of bloody ink, swirling in water creating terrible shapes, the venom of the snake reeked throughout the Chamber, secret, hidden, so secret, so foul, the stench of flesh, and the girl, the red-headed, dead, alive, no alive and she- she couldn't place -_

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. _

"Are you alright Hermione?" Tom asked, snapping her from her thoughts.

The girl jumped back into her armchair and turned her widened eyes back to her book, shaking slightly. A feeling had spread over her mind, a cold, sharp pain that shot quickly between her eyes. It felt familiar. She winced, but managed to blurt out; "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"You were saying something about a lacewing fly?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. What had shocked her? His diary? More importantly - WHY had it shocked her? She could feel his gaze resting on her, it made her all that more uncomfortable. Voldemort - what was that name, why did it sound so familiar? Why did it make her blood turn to ice and her toes curl?

"Yeah, sorry. Don't worry, it's not all that important. I was just going to say that I thought the methodology was wrong," she continued, looking back up at him, fingers tightening around her book when she saw his steely glare. He seemed to be satisfied with her answered however, as he nodded slowly before settling back into his armchair to read. Sometimes she wondered why she was with Tom, if indeed they were 'together'. He treated her more like an acquaintance; he walked her to the library in the morning, escort her to the Great Hall at 6pm, he would read until closing hours, then walk back with her to the Head's quarters. Her time alone was spent reading, minimal contact with others, yearning to explore the castle. But, she was happy enough with her books, she always had been. It was better than bearing the brunt of Tom's anger. As her mind wandered back to other memories, she suddenly remembered where she had felt that stinging pain behind her eyes. _Pipes. _Her mind became so focused on that memory she had barely felt him enter her mind when she had met his eye for that brief second.

_Three days earlier Madame Cara had informed Hermione that she would lock up, as she had a number of Restricted Section books to 'tame' when the students were ushered out. Rather happily, Hermione slipped out of the library when Tom turned down a faraway aisle to retrieve a book, ready to take a look around corridors she had never explored, and to see the Hogwarts grounds. Dippet had been very kind to allow her to stay at Hogwarts, to employ her nonetheless, she thought as she began padding down an unknown passage. Her abilities had been assessed, her wand-work and potion-making thought too advanced for her to go back to school, besides, she was eighteen, there was not much time left for her to become a student. The library provided enough books for her to brush up on her magic, and enough space to practice when there were periods of quiet. She was eighteen however, and only an librarian's assistant, therefore she had to abide by certain student rules. She ate at Tom's table during meal times, for example, and her curfew was only half an hour after the students on nights she had to lock the library, otherwise she was supposed to abide to the same 9 o'clock deadline. Dippet had implied during a recent meeting that, given time for experience to be gained within the castle, that he might let her participate with other teachers in certain classes, as a sort of assistant teacher. Dumbledore had asked for her to do so very enthusiastically, eyes twinkling at her as she gasped with excitement. A smile graced her features when she thought of that - her, teaching at Hogwarts! But still, she had to gain experience within the castle and she could hardly do that when Tom was watching her all day, every day. Her wanderings took her all over the castle - the dungeons, the elves kitchens, the fantastic changing staircases...She turned another corner and saw a corridor stretching into darkness. Why weren't the torches lit here? She glanced at her watch: 10pm. Well, she was already an hour late, no-one would mind, no-one would notice. Curiosity getting the better of her, she raised her wand, casting Lumos wordlessly, before making her way down the corridor. She had never been to this part of the second floor before, it smelt awfully dank and musty. Numerous empty classrooms and cupboards passed and a bathroom - _

_PIPES. _

_There's something slithering in the pipes, tell Harry, tell Ron, tell Dumbledore. Something big, oh gosh, big in the pipes! With eyes of burnt yellow and a sibilant, coaxing voice - it's in the pipes! You've got to let them know, Hermione! Before someone else dies!_

_A pain shot through her head as her hand touched the door to the bathroom. Clutching her hair, she fell backwards against the opposite wall, only managing to hold herself up with one hand. What on earth was that? Images had flickered in front of her eyes, voices filled her ears - her mind overloaded until - god, that pain! With a groan of relief, Hermione leant back against the wall as the pain began to recede. All the things she had heard and seen had been so familiar, but she had no idea what to make of them. Staggering onwards, not looking back at the bathroom, she put it down to rotten pumpkin juice. _

_All of a sudden a hand grabbed her collar from behind and yanked her backwards. She made to scream, but one hand moved to cover her mouth, whilst another pushed her backwards into the wall. Hermione flailed, trying to hit her attacker, but ceased when she noticed the pale, yew wand pointing at her chest. _

"_Calm down, girl, it's just me," Tom hissed, removing his hand from her mouth. _

"_Bloody hell, Tom, are you trying to scare me to death?" she breathed, pushing his wand to the side and away from her. _

"_What are you still doing out of bed? I was waiting for you to come back," he asked, insistently, eyebrows furrowed angrily. _

"_I was - I just wanted to see Hogwarts," she replied. _

"_You should have asked and we could have gone together in the break tomorrow lunchtime."_

"_On my own."_

_Tom's face darkened and he grabbed her roughly by the hand and began to pull her back to their shared quarters. Hermione let out a yelp and tried to pull away from him, but his grip was far too tight for her to shake off. "Tom, you're hurting me. Let go."_

"_No."_

_Soon they reached their destination and he pushed her inside. She had never seen him quite like this before - his eyes were blazing, mouth pursed into a hard line, brows in a constant furrow. He closed the door behind them and stopped to remove his heavy cloak and outer robes. Nervously, Hermione turned away and began to walk towards the staircase leading to her private room. Her steps were hurried, she wanted to get behind her locked door as soon as possible. _

"_Where do you think you're going?" His voice was quiet behind her. _

_She turned to see him standing in the entrance, hands jammed in his pockets. From the outline, she could tell they were balled into fists. "I'm going to bed Tom," she replied, trying to stop her voice from shaking. _

"_No, not yet," he said coolly, strutting down the steps to the entrance and standing closer to her. "Dippet said you had to follow student rules. You were out past curfew - a long time past curfew."_

"_So?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow rather petulantly. Bother to Tom and his overbearing presence! She turned on her heel and tried to walk away again, but he grabbed her shoulder and whirled her back around to face him. _

"_So, Hermione, you'll face the penalties of a student. I'm Head Boy, it's my job to make sure discipline is upheld at Hogwarts," he said, features never softening from their cruel look. "We can do this now or later, but you have to learn." _

_Hermione gawped at him. How serious he was! She began to chuckle slightly, enraging him only further. "I'm going to bed," she repeated, pushing his hand away from the sleeve of her robe. _

_As she turned and made her way up the stairs she heard him chime, "Later it is."_

Tom snapped his book shut with a loud crack and got to his feet all of a sudden. "Thanks for reminding me, darling, I almost forgot," he said, chirpily, looking down at her. She stared back confused. "Oh sorry, but your thoughts are so loud that it's a wonder that the whole castle doesn't hear them."

_Legilimens. _She crossed her arms angrily. "You shouldn't do that, it's horrid, Tom." How much had he seen? Her fingers shook slightly, but ever unwilling to show fear, she tucked them under her armpits and squeezed herself tightly in a reassuring hug.

Tom looked down at her, smiling. Perhaps his little thing was a Seer after all - he knew what was in the pipes. He controlled the beast in the pipes. Some kind of 'vision' was the only answer - how else could she keep seeing all of these signs. He was glad this gift hadn't been erased with her memory, perhaps this would come in handy for him, after all, a Seer could help him on his way to greatness, she could find out where Slytherin's Locket was, how to get away with killing his bastard Father, how to create a Horcrux, how to live forever as Lord Voldemort. But there was time for that, there was time. For now, he needed to make sure that she knew her place, remind her that she belonged to him. His little librarian. And besides, he could let out his desire to hurt her in a way that seemed fair and according to school rules - it didn't jeopardize his chance of charming her, Dippet would certainly approve, as a stickler for the old fashioned ways, it was perfect!

"I'm sorry Hermione, you do think loudly. And although I care about you," he began, softening his voice slightly to lull her into peace. "It's my duty to uphold the school rules. Dippet would punish me if he ever found out I'd given preferential treatment to anyone."

Hermione looked down at her hands, starting to feel ever so slightly ashamed. She _had _been out way past hours and, well, the school had been so kind to her thus far... "W-what do you intend to do? I have no house, so you can't take house points," she muttered, playing with the edge of the book in her lap. Tom noticed this and flicked his wand, sending the book flying into a perfect gap on the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. Hermione let out a yelp as it whizzed past her, standing up in a hurry.

"No, I can't take house points, but that isn't the usual punishment for students out late. You understand it's a serious offense? There are horrible things in the dark of this castle, and in the Forbidden Forest, there's a reason for curfew," he said, twirling his wand between the fingers of his right hand.

_There's something in the pipes. _Hermione thought with a shudder. "Yes, I understand. I'm sorry Tom, but pl-."

"Dippet is a firm believer in corporal punishment, so please transfigure that small wooden table into a sturdier chair and we'll get this over with," Tom said, turning away from her and walking towards the stairs to his bedroom. His heart was pounding gleefully, pulse racing in excitement. This had been a bit of a dream of his, though not particularly with her. Ever since his days in the orphanage, watching people squeal under the harsh leather of the owner's belt, he had wanted to try it himself. He had never really been a fan of brutality, torture curses were far easier than trying to punch or stab, but there was something beautifully rustic and elegant about this. He had delighted in administering discipline at Hogwarts, marveling at the strokes a simple rattan cane could make on the hands or backside of another - a rather attractive Ravenclaw had been his favourite. Out after hours to test an enchanted weather-vane she had created during a storm, she wanted to see if she could harness the power of lightning, catch it in a bottle. A clever girl indeed, and how she had trembled when he told her to pull up her skirt and bend over his desk. How she'd yelped when he teased her and flicked the cane lightly at first, and then screamed when he brought it down much, much harder on her white skin. How he'd wanted to continue after six strokes, but had to let her leave. How he'd imagined in over and over in his mind that night before coming hard into his hand with a gasp, muscles tense with pleasure.

"Corporal what?" a small voice asked behind him. Tom didn't reply, but continued his journey up to his room. Hermione stood in the living room alone, now visibly frightened. This was barbaric! She had only been out after hours! But she had been out, she had broken the rules of this lovely school that had taken her in after the horrid events of the past. She sighed deeply and admitted, for the first time in a long while, that she was wrong. Turning back to the small table that had held her things before Tom sent them away, she waved her wand gently and watched as the wood began to grow and mould itself into the shape of a sturdy looking chair. She sat in it patiently, looking up when she heard Tom descending the stairs. He had removed his jacket and sweater-vest, only his smart black trousers and white shirt remained. She noticed that he had rolled the sleeves back to his elbows, revealing the pale skin of his forearms.

"Well done on the chair, it looks robust enough," he said, absent-mindedly, motioning for her to stand up. She complied, eyes threatening to let out tears, forcing her to quickly look away from him. "Turn around and put your hands on the seat of the chair please."

Tom watched her as she robotically followed his orders, not ever making a sound. Her submission was excellent - though he knew it was only because she realised her wrong-doing, not because she wanted to please him. She placed her shaky hands down on the chair, bending down to present herself to him. "Please pull up your skirt and we'll get this started."

Hermione looked round at him, incredulously. "Pull up my skirt?" she said, shocked.

Tom nodded. "Or down, whatever's easiest for you."

She immediately straightened up and crossed her arms. "I am not taking off my skirt."

Tom laughed lightly, though his eyes were glaring. "Hermione, please. I'm trying to be nice and let you do things. I'm even giving you a choice," he began, removing his wand from his back pocket. Hermione just stood, bewildered by her current state of affairs. The boy waved his wand and it rapidly lengthened, thinned, shaping itself into the form of a sharp looking cane. "So, I can either cane you, or administer the belt. Up to you."

"Neither, I'm going to bed, this is ridiculous," Hermione snapped, beginning to stride past Tom. He swiped the cane upwards, blocking her exit and sighed deeply. "Tom, please, I know I did wrong, but I promise I won't do it again, okay?"

"Hermione, if you want to stay at this school, then you'll obey its rules. And you'll suffer its punishments like everyone else does, it's only fair. If you can't manage that, then I'll have to inform Headmaster Dippet and, well. Who knows where that might leave you?" he said, coolly.

Hermione let out an exasperated groan and ran her hands through her hair. "You wouldn't do that to me, Tom. We're together."

"I saved you from that hell I found you in and thought you deserved better. That does not imply we're together," he shot back, smirking at the way she winced.

She supposed his words were true, he had never acted like they were together to her recollection. She had just assumed, because they were given shared accommodation, because all the teachers assumed they were together. But no, Tom was just a caring, if a little severe, boy. One she found incredibly beautiful, though his behaviour often disturbed her - but no, they were not together. Admitting defeat, Hermione turned and stood in front of the chair. Her current attire of long, burgundy pencil skirt didn't allow for another option, so she pushed the material down over her hips and stepped out of it, folding it in her hands and laying it gently on the floor next to the chair. A blush crept over her face as she felt his gaze sweep over her, thankful that her underwear was plain, white, demure. Next, she stepped back into the position he had ordered and waited for him to speak.

"Good girl. See, that wasn't too hard!" he said, happily, moving behind her. God, yes, he would enjoy this. Her legs were slender, though no longer rakishly thin as when he had first met her thanks to a period of decent meals. Her backside was...too covered for his liking. But still, here she was finally complying with him. He barely blinked, not wanting to miss a second of this experience, knowing full well that it may never happen again. "So what'll it be?"

Hermione frowned. "You just decide Tom, just hurry up."

"It's not my fault you're in this position, Hermione, so do try to respect me a little," he snarled. The girl shut her eyes and clutched the chair harder as she heard the sound of his belt buckle click behind her. She couldn't see the way he tenderly wrapped the end of the leather around his hand, or the way his eyes gleamed as he positioned himself behind her, or the way he raised his arm high above his head. She only felt the harsh whack of the belt across her backside when he brought it down. A thick red stripe immediately formed on her skin and she let out a cry at the impact. Tom smiled happily at the sound, moving his arm back again. He'd never been able to belt anyone before, the cane was Hogwarts standard, and for one, he was glad that Hermione was his test subject. The mark it left was beautiful, so violently red as it peaked out from underneath her underwear. He couldn't help moving his fingers across it lightly, noticing how it was hotter and slightly raised to the touch. Hermione flinched at his contact with her sore skin, turning her head to look at him as he backed into his previous position. "Count," he ordered.

"One," she whispered.

"Louder," he demanded, lashing the belt down again.

"Two!" she said, through gritted teeth. Something inside her reacted badly to his demands. Okay, she admitted her wrongs, but that didn't mean she was going to cry and wail and beg and plead for Tom Riddle, the arsehole who could barely function in polite society. She would accept her punishment, but she would not submit to Riddle.

"Three," she said, trying to keep her voice level, though her hands clenched the chair so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Tom frowned at her as he laid the fourth stripe down, directly across a previous mark. She jumped slightly, but made no noise. Why wasn't she crying? The other girls had been crying by now, they'd been begging. That's what he wanted from her - he wanted to hear her say his name in hope to relinquish the pain he was administering, to see him as the carrot and the stick. Perhaps it was his belt? Perhaps it didn't work as well as other methods. After the sixth stroke and still only receiving that irritating cool voice, Tom lowered the belt in frustration and dropped it into the floor. Hermione's head looked round at the clinking sound and sighed in relief. She'd made it through without cracking. Thank god it was over, the pain was getting to be almost unbearable. She straightened her body upright and placed her hands gently on her burning backside, before feeling a hand clasp around her wrists. Tom stood behind her, dragging her back towards the chair.

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed, trying to pull her hands out of his grasp.

"We're not done yet, Hermione," he hissed, sitting down on the chair and pulling her over his lap. She began kicking and wriggling on top of his legs, failing to escape his tight grip. "Stop moving or it will just go on longer."

With that, he raised his hand and brought it down hard on her right cheek, then the left, then the right... The pain flared up unbearably whenever he hit a welt made by the belt. Worst of all, in her struggle, she caught sight of a full length mirror positioned by the entrance door. The reflection that stared back was horrid, she could see the utter excitement on Tom's face, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed - utterly, ruthlessly beautiful. He paused his actions and flexed his fingers for a moment, before bringing them back to Hermione's rear. She tensed in preparation for the oncoming pain, but it never came. Instead his fingers delicately traced the lines of her welts and palmed over sore spots, cooling them with his touch. She shuddered slightly, not quite knowing how to register this new feeling. It felt...fantastic. There was still pain, fingers leaving burning lines, but also a crackling tenderness, an arousing feeling left in the wake of hurt. Staring into that mirror, she watched his face, saw his fascination and the smirk that never left his lips. And she couldn't help but shudder again.

"One might think you're enjoying your punishment, Hermione," Tom said, voice low, hushed.

"W-what makes you say that?" she replied, teeth still gritted in an attempt of self control. She feared her cries would not be of pain if she let them leave her mouth. His fingers moved down to trace the lines left on her upper thighs, lingering on the tender inner area. The girl in his lap flinched consistently as pleasurable sparks were sent flying around her body.

"Nothing, I suppose. It was just a guess," he said, voice far louder and more jovial. His hand immediately turned back to spanking her - and for the first time she let out a cry of pain. Tom grinned, turning his head to see their reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her mouth open, so he could see her teeth clenched together. He wanted more than this now, and he could tell that this would be an opportunity missed if he were to let it go. She _had _thought that they were together, he had seen in her mind that she found him 'beautiful', it was just her stubborn, arrogant behaviour that was holding this back. They were too similar in their nature to allow the other to take power, even for a second. And he absolutely wanted to break that. His motions stilled and he began his torturous stroking once more. The way she shuddered under his hands, he could barely hold back from striking her again with the belt and then fucking her on the floor. But no, he needed self control this time. He wanted her to remember this time.

"T-Tom," she stammered, as his fingers stroked over her sore thigh.

"Yes, Hermione?" he replied, pressing down gently on a particularly purple welt and getting a hiss in reply.

"Ah- I was wondering, how much longer is left? How much more-," She found she could barely string words together at the moment. His touch felt amazing, she wanted him to continue, to go further, do more - but a cross voice in her mind shouted her down. _He's Tom Riddle. _She questioned the voice as to why that damned him. _He's punishing you. _She replied that she had done wrong. _He's Tom Riddle. You know who he is. Tom Marvolo Riddle. _

"When you've learnt your lesson, Hermione, of course," he replied. _You Know Who. _His fingers trailed slowly up her thigh and settled in between her legs. "Do you think you've learnt anything?"

Hermione let out a gasp as a single finger stroked down the middle of her underwear, startling her from her inner conversation. Tom let out a dark chuckle and rubbed a certain spot a little harder. "I told you that you were enjoying this."

"I-I-"

His finger slipped under the fabric of her knickers and gently moved down her lips to touch her clitoris. "I told you. You're wet."

Hermione let out a low moan as he began circling her clit very slowly. Far too slowly. She writhed against his legs, trying to press backwards into his hand. No voice was screaming at her to stop anymore, she could only think about how marvelous that single finger was making her feel. But he went no faster, only keeping that same, slow rhythm. Her eyes looked to the mirror, observing the wanton scene, fascinated. Tom's lips were still set in a smirk. She moaned again as the feeling inside her began to build.

"Why are you wet, Hermione?" he asked, softly. _Tell me who made you wet. Tell me you're mine. _

"I don't know," she gasped, wordlessly begging him to speed up, to press harder, to move inside her - anything.

"You mean you can't bear to think that nasty old Tom has turned you into a aroused mess," he snorted, removing his hands from her and wiping them on the back of her shirt. "We're done with punishment, you can go to bed now."

Hermione clambered to her feet shakily, blinking hard, stunned. "But what-"

"But what, Hermione?" Tom said, getting to his feet behind her. The girl couldn't bring herself to reply, she merely collected her skirt from the floor and her book bag before heading towards her room and slamming the door shut behind her, not meeting his eye once. With a smug expression on his face, Tom sat down in his armchair, inhaling one cigarette before extinguishing the fire, walking into his room and letting out a deep, pleased sigh. For a moment he considered going straight to bed, but a noise from the other room halted his motions. That sounded a lot like...

With an evil grin plastered on his face he walked quietly to the bathroom and pulled a jar of cooling cream from the medicine cabinet over the sink. Making sure to make no sound, he padded to the door opposite his own and quickly opened the door. "I bought you some cream to help heal tho-" he paused, smirking. He'd been right in his prior assumption. Hermione shrieked and pulled her duvet up over her body, which only moments ago had been naked for him to view, covered in a sheen of sweat, one hand tracing her clit as he had done half an hour ago and the other thrown across her face, which was contorted in an expression of ecstasy. "Oh, sorry," he said, feigning shock. "I just bought this for your welts."

Hermione looked at the pot of cream in his outstretched hand, panting slightly. _Bastard, bastard, bastard. I need a lock for this door! _"Knock."

Tom smiled cruelly. "I didn't expect someone like you to be doing that," he replied, smoothly.

Hermione blushed a deep shade of red, pulling the covers around her body and angrily striding towards him. "Well, don't you know, girls masturbate too? Maybe you should try reading a sex education book for once," she spat, snatching the cream and stamping back to her bed. She sat down huffily on the edge of the bed, swathed in masses of duvet. _She looks like an angry little dumpling. _

Tom laughed at the image and thrust his hands in his pockets. "I think I should be okay. Judging by your reaction, of course." He paused in his snide comment, seeing her obvious discomfort at sitting down. "Don't sit, it'll hurt until you put that on. Lie down."

"Go away Tom, I can't really do anything whilst you're still here."

"Lie down," he repeated, moving closer towards her. Hermione held the duvet tighter around her, shaking her head. "Please, I'm not going to hurt you or do anything...like that. I'm just going to put that stuff on the worst marks, okay? I won't look at you."

She wasn't sure if it was the tender way in which he spoke, or the fact his whole posture had softened, but she turned to lie down, breasts pressed into the sheets, covering herself to the best of her ability before pulling the duvet back. Tom sat down on the bed beside her and opened the pot of healing mixture, taking a scoop of it and gently smoothing it on her sore backside. Finally surveying his work properly, he could see that he had done a fair amount of damage. The belt had left six angry, purple bruises criss-crossing across her skin, and the hand spanking had turned her buttocks a deep shade of scarlet. The girl let out a hiss as the cold cream made contact with her raw flesh, but didn't make a move to stop him. He was secretly pleased at her allowance of this, enjoying the feeling of her skin under his hands. This was different than before - punishing her had sent his mind reeling, he was excited at the pain, like a child burning ants with a microscope. But now, in this quiet moment, he felt very content, very happy. His urge to hurt her was gone, he just wanted this touch. Eventually he withdrew his hand and tapped his wand lightly against her leg to dry the lotion quickly. Staring down at the marks, he frowned slightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, resting a hand lightly on her back. "I had to." _I wanted to._

"I know," came her response, slightly muffled by the pillow she rested her head against. Tom pulled the duvet back over her and she sat up, smiling at him gratefully. "Thanks. I promise I won't go out like that again."

Tom wasn't quite sure what to do. She had submitted to the punishment, he'd almost driven her to come against his finger, she'd almost begged him to continue - he should be elated. Now he just felt a little empty. He wanted to stay here, in this bed, with her. Without any further thought he cupped her cheek gently in his hand and stared at her, straight in the eye. "I'm glad you learnt your lesson," he managed to blurt out before leaning in to press his lips against hers. He felt stupid all of a sudden, clumsy. He felt like the teenage boy he was, not the powerful Dark Lord he wished to be. But it was hard to keep the latter out of his mind at times, and these urges made him want her hurt, her cries, her screaming and begging for release. The former just wanted to kiss her, to have her hand in his. He couldn't silence either urge, he needed them both - how could he explain that to her? Why couldn't she just-

Her lips moved back against his and he felt her hands ruffle through his hair, tongue thrusting into his mouth. _Her first sign of dominance. _Tom smiled into the kiss, pushing her backwards into the bed and straddling her naked waist. _Maybe both won't be impossible. You like the fight too, don't you? You crave power just as much as me, I know it. _

Hermione's hips rolled upwards into him and he couldn't hold back a moan against her lips. Both their eyes fluttered open at the sound and Tom immediately sat up straighter and looked down at her. Her cheeks were flushed, lips rosy from his actions - her eyes were simply burning. She tugged on his collar and brought him back to her lips, but not before uttering;

"Mine."

_I remember you, Tom Marvolo Riddle. And I will change you. _


End file.
